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Full text of "The Penny Magazine of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge"

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AP 
4- 

v. 13 



COMMXTTBfi. 

•LORD BROUGHAM, F.RA, Member of the National Institute of France, 
Ftce-CAosrasaa— EARL SPENCER. 
7Ve«mer-Sir 1. L. GOLDSMID, Bart., F.R. and RJL8. 



C-Ptain Beaufort, R.N., F.R. and R.A.8. 

F x>rd Campbell. 

Professor Carey, A.M. 

John ConoUy, M.D. 

Wilibun Coulson, Esq. 

Ti»e Bishop of St. David**. 

Sir Henry De U Beche. F.R.S. 

Vrofeaaor De Morgan, F.R. A A. 

Ix>rd Denman. 

T. F. Ellis, Esq.. A.M., FJt.A.S. 

Thomas Falconer, Esq. 

John Forbes, M.D., F.R.S. 

F. H. Ooldsmid. Esq. 

B. Gompexts, Esq., F.R. and R JLS. 



J. T. GraTes, Esq.. A.M., FA JS. 

M. D. Hill, Esq.. Q.C. 

Right Hon. Sir J. C. Hobhouse, Bart., M.P. 

Tlios. Hodgkin. M.D, 

Henry B. Ker. Esq. 

Professor Key. A.M. 

John G. S. Lefovre, Esq.. A.M. 

Sir Denis Le Merchant, Bart 

Sir Charles Lemon. Bart., M.P. 

George C. Levis, Esq.. AJf . 

James Loch. Esq., M.P, F.G.S. 

Professor Long. A.M. 

Right Hon. S. Lushington, D.C.L. 



Professor Maiden, A.M. 

A. T. Malkin. Esq.. A M. 

Mr. Serjeant Manning. 

Lord Nugent. 

Professor Quain. 

Sir Martin Archer Shoe, P.R.A.. F.R.8, 

Sir Oeorge T. Staunton. Bart, M.P. 

Professor Thomson. M.D , F.L.9. 

Thomas Vardon, Esq. 

Jacob Waley, Esq.. A.M. 

Ju. Walker, Esq.,F.R~S., P. Inst. Civ. E 

Thos. Webster, Esq.. A.M. 

Lord Wrottosley, A.M.. F.R-A S. 



LOCAL COMMZTTBBS. 



Atum. Stajbrdshre—Rer. J. P. Jonas. 
Anglesea—Wes. E. Williams. 

Rev. W. Johnson. 

— Miller, Esq. 
Barnstaple Bencraft, Esq 

William Gribble, Esq. 
Brlfast—Jnn. L. Drummotid. M.D. 
Birmingham— VauI Moon James, Esq., Trea- 
surer. 
Bridport— James Williams. Esq. 
Bristol -1, N.Sanders, Esq.. F.G.S., Chairman. 

J. Reynolds, Esq., Treasurer. 

J. B. Estlin, Esq , F.L.S., Secretary. 
Calcutta— James Young, Esq. 

C. H. Cameron, Esq. 
Cambridge— Key. Leonard Jenyns, A.M., F.L-S. 

Rev. John Lodge. A.M. 

Rev. Prof. Sedgwick, A.M., F.R.S. & GJS. 
Cante rbu r y — John Brent, Esq. 

WMhun Masters, Esq. 
Carlisle— Thomas Barnes, M.D., F.R.S.K. 
Carnarvon— R. A. Poole, Esq. 

William Roberts, Esq. 
Chrtter— Henry Potts, Esq. 
Chichester— C. C. Dendy. Esq. 
Gur/k— John Crawford, Esq. 

. Plato Petrides. 
Otventry—C. Bray, Esq. 
Pcnbigh— Thomas Evans, Esq. 
Vcrly—Jote^x Strutt. Esq. 

Edward Strutt. Esq., M.P. 
Dcvtmport and Stonehouse— John Cole, Esq* 

John Norman. Esq. 

Lt. Col. C. Hamilton Smith, F.R.S. 
Z>n/ Aran— The Very Rev. the Dean. 
Edinburgh— I. S, Traill, M.D. 



Eseter—J. Tyrrell. Esq. 

John Milford. Esq. (Cbaesr.) 
Glamorganshire— W. Williams, Esq., Aber- 

pergwm. 
Glasgow— 

Alexander McGrigor, Esq. 

James Cowpsr, Esq. 

A. J. D. D^Orsey. Esq. 
Guernsey— F. C. Loklaa, Esq. 
Hitcham. SmMk— Rev. Profonor Henalow, 

A.M.. F.I^S. k G.S. 
Hull— Jnmen Bowden, Esq. 
Leeds— J. Marshall. Esq. 
Lewet-J. W. Woollgar, Esq. 

Henry Browne. Lsq^ 
Liverpool I^oeal Associatton— 

J. Mulleneux, Esq. 

Rev. Wm. Shepherd, LL.D. 
Maidstone— Clement T. Smyth, Esq. 

John Case, Esq. 
Manchester Local Association- 

Sir Benjamin Heywood. Bt.. Treasurer. 

Sir George Philips, Bart., MP. 

T. N. Winstanley, Esq- Han. See. 
Merthyr Tydvil-Sir J. J. Guest, Bart., M.P. 
MinchiMhamptom— John G. Ball, Esq. 
Neath— John Rowland, Esq. 
Newcastle— We* . W. Turner. 

T. Sopwith, Esq,, F.G.S. 
Newport, Isle of fright- Ab. Clarke, Esq. 

T. Cooke, Jun.. Esq. 

R. G. Kirk patrick, Esq. 
Newport PagneU—i. Millar, Esq. 
Norwich— Richard Bacon, Esq. 

Wm. Forster, Esq. 
Orsstt, Essex— Dr. Corbett. 



«Chem. 



Chairm. 



J.. G.S. 



Esq. 



THOMAS OOATES, Esq., Secretary, No. 42, Bedford Square. 



London : Printed by William Clowis and Soks, Stamford Street, 

Digitized by VjOOQ IC 



INDEX TO VOL. XIII. 



I Diamond, commercial valuo of the, 214 
, in the arts, usee of the, 246 



lYtusriA, Bedouins of, page 368 

» doctor in, 1U5 

rica. Eastern, trading town of, 212 I Discontent, spirit of, 267 
rt lemy, causes which led to the belief Drapers' shops, late hours of business 
~ in. 102 

Drawing crayons. 264 
Drifting sands, plantations on, 1 14 
Dunlop cheese, 92 

Du&t-storms of New South Wales. 427 
Eastxbn Africa, commercial nary of, 
I 132 
Eating fish, effects of, 332 

. m , I Egypt, Englishwoman in, 300 

ti mals, locomotion of. 27, 84, HO, , irrigation in, 352 



in, 32 

ps, engineering among, 407, 410 
— .floods and avalanches of, 18 
— , glaciers of the, 15 
nerfcja. frontier settling in, 60 
cicnt Romans, commerce among the, 
V5 

i^lo-Saxons, fine arts among the, 25 
irnal life, gradations of, 68 



>24, 396, 441, 452 

>l*le and pear, produce of the, 142 

ab horse, attachment of, 312 

ahian wasp-dance, 49ii 

liens, causes of the decline of. 32 

ictions in London, 65, 105; Tatter- 
Mil's, 133 

i~tr*Uan squatters, 456 

iorirss, 278 

1 Iras and Balsams, 119 

ingor Cathedral, 409 

trbers and surgeons, 87, 91 

iths for the working classes, 395 

»es for tho poor, 32 

— in Surinam, 66 

— , memory of, 24 

— , pasturage of, 55 

llingsgate market. 439 

scay. province of, 69 

induces, mental. 91 

xliam Castle, 196 

x>k clubs, 179 

j»tlc papers at sea, 494 

mlogne, Roman lighthouse at, 12 

rasses and Effigies, 457, 4 ^ 

ridges in the Himalaya Mountain*, 275 

ronxe. figure-casting in, 259 

ode light, atmospheric, 173 

neno* Ayrcs, 177 

ambwdoi, round church at, 220 

timp of Refuge. 488 

apital, distribution of, 156 

srat, standard, aud sterling, on the 

terms, 239, 247 

asts from organised substances, 270 

t*ment, elastic, 6 

balers and pasturages of the Alps, 474 

liameliou, 411 

hapel Royal, St. James's. 321 

harities, ancient and modern, 52 

heese district* of Italy, 274 

helsea Hospital. 297 

lierry, produce of the, 107 

heater, cathedral of, 365 

hi Chester, cathedral of, 473 

hildren, education of, 272 

Uili, mining system of, 398 

hinese agriculture, 364 

hrist Church, Ham]«hire, 281 

hristian community, 56 

oal. stores of. 368 

olonel Gardiner. 353 

olours, harmony of, 60 

oustantinople, 448 

•»uway Castle, 157 

ookery, English, French notions of, 456 

ornish miners, 272 

ornwail, machine at Tresavean Mine, 
48 

oventry, ancient, 129 
uubear, 193 

Curiosities of British Natural History— 
B itterflies, 1. 49, 81 ; BritUh moths, 
137. 193. 225, 261, 305, 361; Centi- 
pedes and Millepedes, 385 



Ibbahim Pasha, harem of, 39. 
Improvements, public, in 1844, 497 
Indus and the Cabul, junction of the, 

248 
Iron, importance of, 395 
Irresolution, 364 
Jew in Jerusalem, visit to, 368 
Juugle, the, 108 

Kamtchatka. log houses in, 112 
Kingfisher, the, 88 
Kordofan, autumnal custom of, 308 

, bread in. 352 

, climate of, 304 



Elephant hnnt, 312 
Elm tree, uses of the, 54 

England and America, railroads in, 147 
Essays on the lives of remarkable 
painters, by Mr* Jameson— P. Peru- 
gino, 4; F. Franda, 4; Francesco 
Raibolini. called St. Francia, 41 ; Fra 
Bartolomeo, 93, 97; Lionardo da 
Vinci, 169. 181; Michael Angelo. 
268, 309, 345; scholars or Michael 
Angelo. 356 ; Andrea del Sarto, 388 ; 
Raphael d'Urbino. 436; Raphael at 
Rome, 444, 460; death of Raphael, 
492 

Eton College, Louis Phillippe's visit 
to, 432 

Faotobiks, days at, describing various 
manufactures and arts. Yorkshire 
worsted factories, 33 ; Butterley iron 
works, 73; Fltxalan steel and file 
works, Sheffield, 121 ; Sheffield cut- 
lery works, 161 ; Felling chemical 
works, 201 ; glass factory, 249; Bar- 
rowfield dye-works, Glasgow. 289; 
Tyne Factories— white and red lead 
and shot — Sopwith's cabinet manu- 
factory. 337 ; second day at the Tyne 
factories — Stephenson's locomotive 
factory -the Walker oil-mill— starch 
factory, 383; electro-plate factory. 
417; Birmingham factories, 465, 
501 

Fingers, eating with, 411 

Florence and the Medici family, 210 

Fogs, origin of, 395 

Food, preservation of, 496 

Frankincense and Myrrh, 71 

Fruits, dried, of Malaga, 374 

Fuel, economy of, 100 

Funerals, expense of, 94 

Gamboos tree. 308 

German life. 312 

Germany and America, education in, 
139 

Giraffe hunting, 355 

Goats' milk in Spain, 411 

Gold mines, lri.h. 426 

Great Britain, occupations of the peo- 
ple in, 366 

Great men and national greatness, 240 

Greensted, Essex, church at, 17 

Gualioror Gwalior. 113 

Gum, the sources and uses of, 150 

Gypsum, the sources and uses ot, 58 



Kuvi,55 

Labour, 108 

Lancashire oat-cakes, 60 

Land, encroachments of the sea on the, 

190 
Lapland. Christmas on the frontier* 

of. 8 
La Vendee in 1793, 144 
Lemon-juice in the navy, use of, 187 
Levant, dried fruits of. 359 
London end Dover railway, coast line 

of the. 257 
London, public gardens of, 172 
Lorento de' Medici, 219, 229 
Luther's convent, 435 
Lying, 171 

Lynmonth and Lynton, 2 
Mawcxlles, supply of « 



Jypaur 
Hand, 



muscles of the, 200 



Hanuibal,' character of, 60 

Hares, battle between, 328 

Haxel, uses of the, 131 

Hindustan, respect paid to women and 

children in. 496 
Holland, dykes and canals of, 43 
Houey, rapid manufacture of, 48 
Hornets, attack of. 459 
Hudibras, 9, 31, 61, 153, 189, 329, 404. 

428,484 



227 

.__ . . , water to, 224 

Mechanics' Institution of Great Britain, 
229 

Medallions ' en clichee,' 302 

Medals and medallions, casts from, 237 

Medici family and Florence, 210 

Metals, coloured aud variegated, 199 

Mexico, orange groves of, 20 

. valley of, 216 

Michael Angelo's Jonah, 336 

Milan, arch of peace, 369 

Mind amongst the Spindles, 267 

Model farm, 171 

Mogadore, 387 

Money, materials employed a«, 158 

tokens and siege pieces, 110 

Moon, light of, 459 

Natuxai. productions, economy of 
power in, 355 

Naworth Castle. 273 

Nettles, English and foreign, 302 

New Orleans, uniform of, 352 

New Zealand superstitions, 53 

North America, ancient buiMtag iu. 57 

North American Indians, villages of, 
109 

Occupations of the people, changes in, 
486 

Ordnance surveys, English and Irish, 
389.402 

Owls. Italian, 315 

Pa limy, 151. 155 

Paper, rice and straw, 223 

Paris, column of July. 209 

Paris, Hotel des Invalides, 2G5 

Paris in 1579, description of, by a Ve- 
netian ambassador, 8 

Paris, pavement of. 20 

Paris, Punch in. 235 

Peat fuel of Ireland, 414 

Penang, trumpet beetle of. 3S8 

Penny postage, results pf, 63 

Philosophy, practical, in a small way, 1 1 

Pig killing at Rome, 320 

Pix, trial of the. 98 

Plait manufacture of Tuscany, 298 

Plants, rapid growth of. 264* 
Poplar-tree, ut** of the, 2d 
Poppy oil end opium, 46 



Port Philip, trees of. 20 
Potosi, mines at. 120 
Printing, first effects of, 304 
Protective and sanatory provisions for 

populated districts, 479 
Psalroanaxar, George, 310, 318 
Pygmies, race of, 68 
Kail wats, rambles Iroro : the Mole, 

Surrey. 100. 116, 148 ; the Lea, 185. 

213, 217. 231, 233, 244; the Adur. 

Arun, and Wey. 276, 284, 316, 332. 

348, 371, 401 
Red Sea, 315 
Reval. fair at, 120 
Kiver Gambia, sleeping fish of, 323 
Robin redbreast, anecdotes of a, 104 
Romans and the Northmen, 32 J 
Home, nuisances in, 362 
Uomerat Fraukfort. 393, 425,449.481 
Roots of plants, supply of air to, 26€ 
Russia, precious metals in, 322, 346 
S\lt trade of foreign countries, 66 
Sanssure and his successors, 438, 448 
Saxon Witenagemot, 453 
Scotch fishermen, superstitions of, 408 
Sea,. encroachments of, on the land, 197 
Seven Ages, sculpture of, by Behnes, 241 
Sliepherds in New South Wales, 96 
ShiaK*Vbeaches, movement of, 242 
Ship building, Chinese. 32 
Silk-worms in Jamaica, 459 
Society, nature the architect of, 92 
South America, damp and dry winds of, 



Spaniards, type or the, 20 

Spanish Town, 416 

Sphinx, 368 

Standard, sterling, and carat, on the 
terms, 239, 247 

St David, cathedral ot, 433 

Sterling, standatd, and carat, on the 
terms, 239, 247 

Stock Exchange, the. 29 

Straw, pictures and devices in, 183 

Sugar-makins, United States, 375 

Tanoikb in 1836, reminiscences of, 313, 
326,334 

Telescopes, reflectors for, 287 

Timber houses, old English. 89 

Timber, preservation of, 135 

Tokay districts of Hungary, 478 

Topiary work, 307 

Toulouse, description of, 21 

Travelling and vehicles on the Conti- 
nent. 350, 357. 363 

Turkey, supply of water in, 463 

Usaoss before interment, and funeral 
ceremonies. 45 

Vamialla, description of tho interior 
of, 489 

Vegetation, power of, 315 

Vehicles and travelling on the Conti- 
nent, 350, 357, 363 

Venice, water-carrying girls of, 331 

Waits, 455 

Wakes and burials, Irish, 279, 283 

Wandering Jew, the, 144 

Warping, fertilisation of land by, 221 

Warwick. 145 

Water, production of sound under, 13 

Western antiquities, 365 

Winds of New South Wales, 416 

Wiue districts of France, 399, 450; of 
Portugal and Madeira. 431 ; of Spain, 
434; of the Rhine, 446; of Italy. 
462; Levant, 482 

Wood, pictures and devices on, 175 

Xamthiam marbles. 412 

Yeasi, Hungarian, 132 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 



SUBJECT. *aoi. 

1 Group of Butterflies ...... 1 

2 Perogino and Figures from a picture in 

the Museum at Bologna ; '. . . 4 

3 The Eutombment in the Palaxxo Pittl, 

from Perugino ....... 5 

4 Hudibras and Ralph 9 

5 Remains of Caligula's Lighthouse • . 12 

6 Greensted Church, Essex . • • . 17 

7 View of Toulouse 21 

8 Anglo-Saxon Drawing. From St. £Sthel- 

wold's ' Benedictional ' .... 25 

9 Diagram of the Human Figure, walking 28 

10 Jacquard Weaving-Shed 33 

11 Wool-Combs 37 

12 Drawing Worsted into Slivers ... 37 

13 Warp-scouring; 38 

14 Drawing-in tho Worsted Warp ... 39 

15 Jacquard Card-making 41 



DKSIOKZftS. XNOXAVXXS. 

Brown. Jackson. 



Harvey. 



Anelay. Sears. 

Thome. Jackson. 

Tiffin. Folkard. 

Rowlett. Jackson. 

Fussel). ,. 

L. Jewitt. Hollowsy. 

„ Horner. 

„ Sears. 
Wragg. 

„ Romney. 

.» Wragg. r 



SUBJECT. f-AOI. DESlOIfE&S. 

16 Portrait of Francia, and Presentation in 

tire Temple, after a picture by liim • 41 Harvey. 

17 Anxlo-Sexon Coffin and Grave-Clothes. 

From the Raising of Lazarus . . • 45 Fairholt. 

18 Group of British Butterflies .... 49 Brown. 

19 Procession of Freemasons' Orphans at 

Freemasons' Hall. From 8tothard . 52 Tiffin. 

20 Ancient Tower si Newport, U. S. . . 57 Brown. 

21 The Bear at the Stoke 61 Harvey. 

22 Auction-room at Christie's «... 65 Tiffin. 

23 Bilbao 60 Fairholt. 

24 Butterley Iron- Works. Casting Iron • 73 J. Jewitt. 

25 Coke Ovens 75 

26 Filling Blast Furnace . . . 57 

27 Cuiing Pipes 78 — 

28 Puddling Furnace and Shin- 
gling Hammer 79 f^ 

f^tiXT" mas B * r ' Iron ' • Di 9 itize # b y* CT C ) 



XXOKAVEBS. 

Clarke. 



Sears. 
Jackson. 



M.Hampton 

Jackson. 

Nugent. 




ILLUSTRATIONS. 



SUBJECT page. nestoNBts. xxobavmbs. 

30 Butterley Iron-Works, Catting Boiler Plates 80 — — Wragg. 

31 Butterflies, Group HI 81 Brown. Jackson. 

32 Diagram to illustrate Walking ... 84 Fusscll. „ 

33 Various Positions of the Human Figure 

in Walking 85 „ „ 

34 Position of the Fignre in Slow Walking 86 „ „ 

35 Ditto ditto in Quick Walking . 86 „ „ 

36 Curves formed la Walking with Wuodeu 

Legs 86 „ „ 

37 Curvet formed in Running with ditto . 86 „ „ 

38 Curves formed in Walking .... 86 „ „ 

39 Hulme Hall, Lancashire 89 T.F.Marshall „ 

40 Caned Timber Gable at Ockwells . . 90 Poynter. 

41 Fra Bartolomco 93 Harvey. H. Clarke. 

42 Group from tlie picture of the Madonna 

at Lucca, by F. Bartolomeo ... 97 „ ,, 

43 Scene on the Mole 100 J. Thome. Jackson. 

44 Betchworth Castlo 101 „ „ 

45 Auction Mart 105 Tiffin. „ 

46 Crow, Sioux, and Pawnee Indians . . 109 Catlin. Sir. 

47 Fortress of Gnaltor t 113 Fairholt. Scars. 

48 Leatherhead Church 117 J. Thornc. Jackson. 

49 Steel -Works: Melting Furnaces . . 121 Shepherd. Welch. 

50 Tilt Hammers 124 — - Sears. 

51 Clay Kneading for Crucibles ... 125 Nugent. 

52 File Forging 127 Wells. Romney. 

53 File-cutters at Work # 128 „ Palling. 

54 Hardening Tank .......128 ,, Crow. 

56 Old Timber Almshouse* at Coventry . 129 Harvev. Baaiin. 

56 Court-yard of TatteraaU's "▼. ... 133 „ Jackson. 

57 Sphinxes or Hawk- Moths .... 137 Brown. ,» 

58 Diagrams illnstratlve or Walking . . 140 Fusaell. .. 
39 Curves in Walking with Wooden Legs . 140 „ „ 

60 Diagram Illustrative of Running . . 140 „ „ 

61 Figures from Flaxman, illnstrative of 

False Position of Centre of Gravity . 141 „ ,, 

62 Ditto ditto 141 „ „ 

63 Hainan Figures Jumping , .... 141 ,. „ 

64 Old Houses at Warwick 145 Harvey. „ 

65 Beauchamp Chapel • 146 „ M 

66 Claremont 148 Thome. «, 

67 Mill at Cobham 148 „ „ 

68 Wolsey's Tower 149 „ ,. 

69 Sir Hudibras Addressing the Mob . . 153 Harvey. „' 

70 Couway Castle 157 M. Stanley. J. Adams. 

71 Saw-grinders 161 Shepherd. Nugent. 

72 Paring 162 We-lb. Bears. 

,3 Toothing Long Saw 162 „ Crow. 

74 Forging Rator-hlades 164 „ Welch. 

75 Cutting Ivory Handles with Circular Saw 167 Shepherd. Palling. 

76 Penknife-cutlers 168 Sear*. 

77 Lionardo da Vinci, and the Battle of the 

Standard 169 Harvey. H.Clarke. 

78 Gardens of the Royal Botanical Society 172 Tiffin. Jackson. 

79 Buenos Ayres 177 Broun. M 

80 Santa Anna ; after L. da Vinci ... 181 Harvey. H. Clarke. 

81 Luton Church 185 Thome. Jackson. 

82 Church of Houghton Regis .... 185 „ „ 

83 The Flight of the Bear 189 Harvey. M.Hampton. 

84 British Moths ........ 193 Brown. Jackson. 

85 Bodiam Castle 196 Sargent Sears. 

86 Soda-Furnaces 201 Shepherd. Nugent. 

87 Sulphuric- Acid Chambers .... 20J „ Crow. 
83 Platinum Si ill, for Sulphuric Acid . . 204 Wells. Wraeg. 

89 Soda-crystallizing Pans 206 Shepherd. Welch. 

90 Cylindrical Mass of Crystallised Alum £07 I* Jewitt. „ 

91 OolonnedaJoillet. Place de la Bastille 209 Tiffin. Jackson. 

92 Panshanger Oak 213 Thome. „ 

93 Hertford Castle 217 ,. ,. 

94 Chadwell Springs 218 „ ,. 

95 Round Church, Cambridge, exterior . 220 Fairholt. Sly. 

96 Ditto ditto interior . 221 Brown. Jackson 

97 Group of British Moths 225 „ „ 

98 Lynmouth Bridge 228 Porter. 

99 Lynton Parsonage 229 „ ,, 

100 Broxbouroe Church 233 Thome. „ 

101 Abbey Gates, Waitham 235 „ ,. 

102 Portrait of M. Angelo, with figures from 

the Monument of Lorenso de' Medici 236 Harvey. Clarke. 

103 The Seven Ages, from Behnes ... 241 Wells. Palling. 

104 Bleak Hall 244 Tliorne. Jackson. 

105 Tottenham High Cross 24> ,. ., 

106 Plate-Glass Casting 249 L. Jewitt. Sears. 

107 Transferring to the Pontel . . . . ?5l Crow. 

108 Flashing out Crown Glass .... 252 Nugent. 

109 Examining Liquid Glass .... 253 Horner. 

110 Sheet-Glasvmaking 255 — Wragg- 

111 Glass-Bottle-makiug 250 Homer. 

112 Abbot's Cliff Tunnel, Dover . ... 257 Sly. Welch. 

1 13 Group of British Mollis ¥61 Brown. * Jackson. 

1 14 Church of the lnvalides, Par|s ... 965 Sly. * Sears. 

115 Cumean Sibyl, Sistine Chapel ... 268 Harvey. H.Clarke. 
1 16 Figure from the Sistine Chapel . . . 269 „ „ 

117 Group from the Sistine Chapel . . . 269 ,, „ 

118 Naworth Castle . 273 Tiffin. T. Williams. 

119 Cottages at HenAeld 276 Thome. Jackson. 

120 Interior of Christ Church, Hants '. . 281 Browue. ,, 

121 Bramber Castlo ........ 284 Thome. ,. 

122 BleachingGround, Glasgow . ... 28$ Wells. Welch. 

123 Yarn-wringing 291 ,. Curlew. 

124 Bandana Press 292 „ Sears. 

125 The Men'seg 295 „ Nugent 

126 Chelsea Hospital. 1715 297 B. Sly. Sears. 

127 Mosque of Ibn Tooloon 300 Harvey. Jackson. 

128 Turkish Lady iu Riding Attire of Egypt 300 ,, 

129 Turkish Lady in the ordinary Dress . ;.0 ) „ M. Hampton. 



SUBJECT. faoe. 

230 Group of British Moths 305 

131 Jonah, from a Picture by West ... 309 

132 Tangier, from an original sketch • . 313 

133 Old Shoreham Church 316 

134 The Aran at Little Hampton ... 317 

135 Tortington Priory 318 

136 Interior of the Chapel Royal. St. James's 321 
137-139 Skeletons of Man, Chlmpanxee, and 

Orang-oubm 

140-142 Skulls of Man, Chimpanzee, and 
Orang-outan 

143 Red Howling Monkey 

144 Hudiljrae— the Rescue of the Bear 

145 Combat of Hudibras with Orsin and 

Cerdon . . • 

146 Amberly Castle 

147 Mill at Arandel 

148 Jonah after Michael Angelo . . . . 

149 Casting Lead Into Flat Moulds for White- 

Lead-Manufacture 337 

150 Casting Shot 330 

151 Inclined- Plane for Separating Shot . . 339 

152 Red-Lead • Stirring' 340 

153 Setting the Beds for White Lead . . 341 

154 Daniel—From the Sistine Chapel . . 345 

155 Gateway at Cowdry 348 

156 Birthplace of Col. Gardiner ... 353 

157 Portrait of D. da Volterra, and Group 

from his Picture of the Taking down 
from the Cross 356 

158 Group from the Raising of Lauras . . 357 

159 Group of British Moths 361 

160 Chester Cathedral 365 

161 Arch or Peace. Milan 369 

162 Guildford Castle 372 

163 St. Catherine's Chapel 373 

164 Stephenson's I/>comotive Factory . . 377 

165 Grinding Linseed 382 

166 Crushed Linseed falling into Bags . . 382 

167 Bags of Linseed iu the Hydraulic Press 382 



DEMOKEES. 

Browne. 
Dukes. 
Tiffin. 
Thame. 



On; 



acksoa. 



L. Jewitt. Nugent. 



324 Fusscll. 



329 Harvey. 

331 -•» 

332 Thome. 

333 ,. 

336 ,. 



Jackeuu. 



L. Jewitt 


Sears. 




Horner. 




Nugent. 


" 


WelS*. 


_— 


Jackson. 


Thome. 




J. T. Black. T. William, 



Harvey. 

Brown. 

THRn. 
Thome. 

B."siy. 
J. Jewitt. 



tripping the Bag from the Oil-cake 
tritish Centipedes and Millepedes . 



385 Brown. 



Thonse. 
Harvey. 



Brown. 
Sargent. 
Wefts. 
Gilbert*. 

Shepherd. 
Gilberts. 

Harvey. 



Brown. 

Harvey. 
FusselL 



169 Brill , . 

170 Andrea del Sarto and Group from the 

Madonna del Sacco ...... aw 

171 St. Joachim 389 

172 Egyptian Coffee Service .... .892 

173 The Emperor Otto III 393 Harvey. 

174 The Bat 396 Fuseell. 

176 The Horse, four Figures to illustrate 

the Step 896 » 

176 Horse Trotting 397 >» 

177 Kangaroos . 397 

178 Newark Priory 401 

179 Hudibras subdued by Trulla . . . 494 

180 Hudibras and Ralph conveyed to the 

Stocks 405 

181 Bangor Cathedral 409 

182 Xanthian Marbles in the British Museum 412 

183 Electro Plating— Silver deposit Room . 417 

184 Swaging .421 

185 Soldering with GaaJets 421 

186 Moulds, Sec 423 

187 Burnishing 424 

188 Planishing 424 

189 Frederic I. Barbarossa 425 

190 The Lady visiting Hudibras in the Stocks 428 

191 The Knight and Squire released ... 429 

192 Cathedral of St. David 433 

193 Portrait of Raphael d'TJrbtno, and Mar- 

riage of Joseph and Mary .... 486 

194 Hunting the Ostrich 441 

195 Foot of Woodpecker 442 

196 Green Woodpecker 442 t» 

197 Group from the Heliodorus .... 443 Harvey. 

198 Pope Julius II 445 

199 Frederic II 449 

200 Ringed Snake. Vertical Motion ... 462 Fuasell. 

201 Amboyna Box-Tortoise 452 

202 Ringed Snake, Latiral Motion ... 453 

203 Brass Effigy of Margaret Cheyne ... 457 

204 Inlaid Brass of Eleanor Bohun . . . . 457 

205 Joseph relating his Dream. Alter Raphael 460 

206 Angels appearing to Abraham ... 461 

207 Button Manufactory. General View . . 465 

208 Stamping 467 

209 Soldering Shanks .... 468 

210 Gilding 469 

211 Burnishing 469 

212 Match-lock 472 

213 Cathedral of Chichester 473 

214 Brass Effigy of Sir T. Bohun .... 476 
215 ofWm. Todde .... 477 

216 Maximilian the First 481 Harvey. 

217 Procession of the Skimmington ... 484 

218 Flight of Hudibras and Ralpho ... 485 

219 Interior of the Valhalla ..... 489 

220 St. Michael overcoming the Dragon „ _ 

221 Charity 493 

222 Royal Exchange 497 

223 Conservative Club-House . . . . 4$ 

224 Guildhall. Bristol . 500 

225 Wire-drawing Machine 501 

226 Making Heads of Screws 503 

227 Cutting Worm of Screws .... fr - 9> 503 

228 Cutting Iron for Nails ... 

229 Making Cut Brads . Digit izecM 



Jackson. 

WakenVld. 
JacksosA 

Nugent. 
Homer. 

Welch. 
Palling. 
Jackson. 



Harvey 4 H.Cmrkc 



Jackson. 



Jewitt. 

Sly. 

Harvey. 

w'ells. 



Brown. 
Jewitt. 



Harvey. 

Wells. 
B. Sly. 

Wells. 



Jackson. 

M.Hampton. 

Jackson. 

Homer. 

Welch. 

Nngent. 

Horner. 

Gorway. 

Sear*. ' 

?V- 

Jackson. 



H. Clarke. 
Jack sou. 



H. Clarke 
Jackson. 



Horner. 

Sears. 

H. Clarke, 

Nugent. 
Sears. ' 

Crow. 
Field. 

Jackson. 
Wragg. 
Crow. 
Jackson. 



H. Clarke. 

Sears. 
Pallli 
Horn* 
Wrai 



gltiidlbyiGfolOgle 



Ing. 

left 
rags, 
clef. 

Wragg. 
Crow? 



THE PENNY MAGAZINE 



OK THE 



Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge. 



fa, Pootia Cardamines ; b, Fieri* Crataegi ; c, Pontia Rape ; d, Pontia Napi ; *, Pontia Brassies ; /, Gonopteryx Hhamni ; g, Colias Hj ale.] 



CURIOSITIES OF BRITISH NATURAL 

HISTORY. 

Butterflies. 

If, having never seen or heard of a butterfly, one were 
to meet our gaze, as on winnowing wings it danced 
through the summer air from flower to flower, should 
we conceive it possible that it had ever been a crawl- 
ing and voracious worm, and then a torpid being en- 
veloped like a mummy in a case, — whence it sprung 
fonh in newness of life, light-winged, and graceful in 
every movement, and arrayed with beauty? And 
though we know this to be the fact, when we look at 
the sluggish leaf-eating caterpillar, and contrast it with 
what it will be, when on broad wings it traverses gar- 
den and meadow, extracting from the flowers their 
nectar for food, we feel involuntary emotions of wonder, 

no. 755. 



so striking is the contrast Well might the Greeks, 
elegant even in their mythology, apply the term Psyche 
to the soul — and to the butterfly, the latter being the 
mystical emblem of the former. 

All know what a caterpillar is, — there are few who 
are not familiar with the caterpillars of many of the 
more common butterflies, so destructive to the escu- 
lent vegetables of the kitchen-garden ; but still some 
points in their structure and economy may not be so 
generally understood. 

The caterpillars of the butterfly tribe have hard 
horny jaws; a body consisting of segments, to the 
numoer of twelve, exclusive of the head. They are 
furnished with legs of two kinds : of these, the first 
three pairs, attached to the three first segments of the 
body respectively, are true, or persistent, being the 
rudiments of the legs of the perfect insect ; these are 



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THE PENNY MAGAZINE. 



[January G, 



horny. The other legs, termed pro-legs, or tem- 
porary legs, are soft, short, and conical ; they vary 
m number in different species; the larva or cater- 
pillar of the common cabbage butterfly has five pairs : 
these feet are furnished with a set of minute, slender, 
horny hooks, alternately longer and shorter, by means 
of which the animal is enabled to lay a very firm hold 
on the leaves of plants or other objects, and also to 
move along with tolerable dispatch. It is to be 
observed, that when five pairs of these limbs are pre- 
sent, none are found on the fourth, fifth, tenth, or 
eleventh segments, but a pair respectively on the sixth, 
seventh, eighth, ninth, and twelfth segments. In 
some caterpillars there are only two pairs of these 
limbs — one pair on the last segment, one on the ninth ; 
such are the geometrical larvae. 

Many caterpillars are covered with long stiff hairs, 
others with short harsh fur or bristles; some arc 
furnished with tufts ; other are naked. 

A very important organ possessed by the larvae of 
butterflies and moths is the spinneret for the produc- 
tion of silken threads, by means of which some merely 
suspend themselves during the pupa stage, while 
others envelop themselves as in a shroud. Many 
caterpillars, moreover, weave tents of network or houses 
for themselves in hawthorn, apple, and pear trees, in 
which, on returning from their foraging excursions, 
they cluster by hundreds. The spinneret is seated 
beneath the horny lower lip, or labium, as entomologists 
term it, and the two first legs; and appears in the form 
of a conical protuberance, whence two long tortuous 
tubes extend down the body of the larva: these tubes 
separate the silk from the juices of the body in the 
form of a gummy fluid, which, as it is drawn through 
the aperture of the spinneret, hardens into a thread : 
such is the silk of the silkworm. 

On its exclusion from the egg the caterpillar is of 
very small size ; its growth, however, soon commences, 
and is as rapid as its appetite is voracious. As, how- 
ever, it is clothed in an outer skin which is not exten- 
sible, this investment, like the armour of the lobster, 
must be repeatedly changed. Beneath the old outer 
skin, or epidermis, which soon begins to be loosened, a 
new one is formed ; a rent takes place, from the swell- 
ing out of the animal, down the back of the old 
skin, and this rent gradually increases, till the animal, 
with a brighter epidermis, frees itself from its dis- 
carded weeds, and appears of larger dimensions. 
During this process, which is often repeated, the cater- 
pillar is sluggish and inactive, and refuses food ; but 
when the process is over, it recovers its former vo- 
racity. During all this time the caterpillar is laying 
up an accumulation of fat to serve the wants of the 
system during the time of its torpid pupa state, which 
it is now preparing for. Beneath tne last cuticle 
assumed, the vital energies of the system have de- 
veloped wings, antennae, a slender proboscis,, and all 
the parts of the perfect butterfly, or moth, that is to 
be. This last cuticle, or epidermis, is, however, yet to 
be cast off, and another is formed to clothe the pupa 
'or chrysalis, as the pupa of the butterfly is often 
termed \ which in its turn is to be broken open for the 
exit of the perfect insect. Previously, however, to the 
pupa stage being assumed, it secures itself by means 
of its silk in a position varying according to the 
species. Suppose it merely suspends itself by the 
tail : in this ense the first care of the caterpillar is to 
cover the spot to which it is about to suspend itself 
with successive layers of silken threads, which readily 
adhere, till at last a little silken cone is produced, into 
which the caterpillar pushes its hinder pair of pro-legs 
(those on the last segment), which become entangled, 
and so fixed, amidst the threads ; it then permits itself 
to hang down with the head lowest. In a short time 



it begins to bend its back, bringing the head near the 
attached feet ; and, after continuing for some time in 
this attitude, it straightens itself, and repeats the same 
action. In about twenty-four hours the outer skin 
begins to split down the back, and the fissure is en- 
larged by the swelling and pressure of the chrysalis. 
till at length the head and lower portion of the sus- 
pended being become disengaged, the skin shrivelling 
up into a bundle surrounding the tail. This, however, 
has to be thrown off, and at the same time the chry- 
salis has to avoid disengaging itself from its mooring 
of silken threads from which it hangs : for, be it re- 
membered, it was by its hind-legs that it attached itself 
To effect this, instinct-guided, it seizes on a portion o: 
this shrivelled skin between two segments of its body 
holding it as with a pair of pincers, and thus, destitute 
of limbs, supports itself, till it withdraws the tail from 
the old useless skin which sheathed it ; it then, still 
clinging, elongates the rings of its tail as much as 
possible, and seizes a higher portion of the skin, and 
in this manner, climbing backwards as it were upon 
its exuviae, it repeats the manoeuvre till the extremity of 
the tail presses the silk, to which it immediately adheres 
by means of a number of hooks provided for the purpose. 
Still these exuviae encumber it, and hang in contact 
with it ; curving its tail in such a manner as partly to 
embrace the shrivelled skin, it whirls rapidly round, 
jerking violently, and at length succeeds in disengaging 
it from its fastenings and throwing it to the ground. 
Other caterpillars attach themselves closely to the wall 
or other object by bands of silk round the body, as well 
as by a little cone of silk at their extremity ; and some 
envelop themselves completely. In a short time the 
chrysalis hardens (for at first it is very soft), and shows 
through the outer case the wings, antennae, eyes, and 
le«s of the perfect insect. It now passes into a sort 
of torpid state, till the time arrives for the exit of tLe 
perfect butterfly from its case. 

The duration of the pupa or chrysalis stage of exist- 
ence varies in different species, and even in the same, 
being retarded by cold and abbreviated by warmth — a 
wise provision, as it respects the safety of the matured 
insect. The butterfly, when ready for exclusion, bursis 
the skin of the chrysalis, now to be thrown off, which 
covers the thorax, and emerges, feeble and languid, 
with wings crumpled up into small bundles. Soon, 
however, the body acquires strength ; the fluids circu- 
late through the ncrvures of the wings : these gradu- 
ally unfold, and the creature quivers them, as it feels 
its growing powers: at length, in the perfection of 
strength and beauty, it leaves its sordid mummy-case 
behind, — soars aloft, seeks the flowers of the garden, 
and commences a new existence. 

Such is a sketch of the progress of the caterpillar 
from the e^Q to the butterfly; from 

" The worm, a thing that crept 
Oil tlie bare earth, — then ^wrought a tomb and slept," 

to the hovering " Psyche." 

Tne rest of the story is soon told ; bright things must 
fade: the butterfly enjoys a brief summer, deposits its 
l eggs on the plants which instinct teaches it are the ap- 
propriate nourishment of the future caterpillar, and 
passes out of existence. 

The group of butterflies before us consists of— a, the 
orange-tip butterfly (Pontia Cardamines) ; 6, the black- 
veined white or hawthorn butterfly (Pieris CraUegi) ; 
c, the small white butterfly (Pontia Rap©) ; d, the 
green-veined white butterfly (Pontia Napi) ; e, the 
common cabbage butterfly (Pontia Brassies®) ; / the 
brimstone butterfly (Gonopteryx Rhamni) ; g t the pale 
clouded yellow butterfly (Colias Hyale). 

The orange-tip butterfly is tolerably common in our 
island, frequenting the borders of woods and lanes 



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winding through a woodland hut cultivated district. 
It usually appears ahout the end of May ; seldom in 
April. The sexes are very dissimilar. The caterpillar 
is green, with a white streak along each side : it feeds 
upon various cruciferous plants, especially those of the 
genus Cardamine. The large or primary wings of the 
butterfly are white, dusky at the base, with a small 
black crescent-mark in the centre, and a black tip. 
In the male, the outer half of the wing is tinged with 
orange. In both, the hinder wings are marbled beneath 
with pale green ; above they present faint tracings of 
the same. Extent of wing averaging an inch and a 
half. The black-veined white or hawthorn butterfly 
is very partially distributed in our island, occurring 
principally in the southern counties : it has been taken 
in the New Forest, near Chelsea, in Coombe Wood, and 
in various places in Berkshire. It is by no means un- 
common on the Continent. In size it equals the com- 
mon cabbage butterfly ; but the wings are semi-trans- 
parent, with black nervures, and a black list round the 
outer edge. The caterpillars of this species are gre- 
garious, feeding on the leaves of the hawthorn, and 
weaving a network of silk as a temporary residence, 
into which they crowd. They are partially hairy, black, 
and striped with reddish brown on each side. 

Pallas once saw such vast flights of this butterfly in 
the vicinity of Winof ka, that he at first mistook them 
for flakes of snow. 

The small white butterfly bears, excepting in size, 
a close resemblance to the common cabbage species, 
from which, however, it is very distinct, as is proved 
by their respective caterpillais. It is a very common 
species, appearing about the beginning ot May: a 
second flight takes place in August. This species is 
one of the pests of the garden, laying its eggs on cab- 
bages, cauliflowers, &c. The larvjp, or caterpillars, 
are of a light bluish green, with a pale line above the 
back, and a whitish streak, somewhat speckled with 
yellow, along each side of the abdomen. It buries 
itself deeply between the leaves of the plants, and in 
the very heart of the cauliflower. The small white 
butterfly is rather variable in its markings. The 
colour of the wings above is white, with a slight tinge 
of yellow ; the primary wings have a dusky spot at the 
tip ; and there are two spots in the female— one in the 
male, in the centre : the hinder wings have a black 
mark on their anterior border. The anterior wings 
beneath have two black spots and a yellow tip; the 
hinder wings beneath are rather of a bright yellow, 
powdered with black, with a narrow streak of orange- 
yellow on the anterior edge at the base. 

The green-veined white butterfly is extremely com- 
mon, appearing first in May, a second flight occurring 
also in July. It frequents gardens, laying its eggs on 
cabbages and other culinary vegetables. In colouring 
it is subject to some differences; the general tinge is 
white inclining to yellow ; the tip of the primary wing 
is dusky, and there are two central black dots in the 
female, one in the male ; a small black dot on the 
hinder wings near the anterior edge. Under surface 
of hinder wings and tip of primaries sulphur yellow, 
the nervures being strongly marked with green ; two 
black spots on the upper wings near the hinder 
margin. The caterpillar is dull green, paler along the 
sidps, '.vitfi yellow stigmata, and covered with white 
warts, which are tufted with short hairs: chrysalis 
greenish yellow. 

The common cabbage butterfly scarcely needs de- 
scription, so well is it known, as is also its caterpillar, 
the ravages of which in the kitchen-garden are most 
annoying. Brocoli, cauliflower, cabbage, turnip, are 
ail infested by it ; at tae same time it is itself destroyed 
in abundance by birds which feed upon it or carry it to 
their young ; and it is the favourite victim of a species 



of ichneumon (Ichneumon glomeratus, Linn.), which 
by means of a fine ovipositor deposits its eggs within 
the caterpillar's body, where they soon hatch, the larvae 
feeding upon their victim, yet directed by instinct to 
avoid the vital organs. In due time the caterpillar 
crawls to some wall, as if about to undergo its pupa 
stage ; but at this period the larvaj of the ichneumon 
are ready, and gnawing their way out, destroy the 
miserable being on whose substance they have fed, and, 
clustering together near the withering body of their sup- 
porter, enfold themselves in tiny cocoons of a golden 
yellow. The walls of our garden bear ample testimony 
to the parasitic habits of this ichneumon, and to the 
multitude of caterpillars that perish in the manner 
described. 

The cabbage butterfly appears in April and May : 
the wings are white above, with a large patch of blaek 
on the tip of the anterior pair : in the male, a black spot 
near the middle of the anterior edge of the secondary 
wings ; the female, besides this, has two others about 
the middle of the upper wings, and a patch at their 
hinder margin. The under surface of the wings in- 
clines to yellow, the lower being finely powdered with 
black ; the upper wings have two conspicuous black 
spots. The caterpillar is green, with a narrow line of 
yellow along the back, and another on each side of the 
abdomen ; the body is thickly covered with tuber- 
culous points of a black colour, each having a hair in 
the centre. 

The brimstone butterfly is one of the earliest that 
make their appearance, and may be seen on the wing 
flitting along the lanes and copses in the month of 
March, when a bright sunny morning gives hope of 
the "year confirmed." As the spring advances, it 
becomes more common, and a second flight comes forth 
in August. This species is far more abundant in the 
southern than the northern counties of our island, 
although in certain localities of the north it is tolerahly 
common. On the Continent it is very generally 
spread. 

The male is of a pure sulphur yellow above, and in 
both sexes a small spot of orange occupies the centre 
of each wing. The female is greenish yellow above ; 
the under side is paler than the upper. 

The caterpillar is elongated, naked, and of a light 
green colour, with numerous black scaly dots on the 
back, and a pale line along each side of the abdomen. 
It feeds on the buckthorn and the berry-bearing alder, 
two species of Rhamnus: the chrysalis is short and 
angular. 

The pale clouded yellow butterfly is rare, and found 
chiefly on the sea-coast in the counties of Kent, Sussex, 
and Suffolk. A pale variety occurs in the vicinity of 
Dover. Seldom has it been found far from the sea. It 
is a fine species : the male is usually of a rich sulphur 
yellow, the female nearly white : the upper wings are 
marked near the middle with a black spot, and at their 
extremity have a deep black border, almost divided by 
a series of yellow spots into two. The under wings 
have a large orange spot in the centre : beneath, the 
upper wings are whitish yellow, orange-stained at the 
tip, with a" black ring-spot enclosing a yellow centre 
near the middle, and with a row of small dusky marks 
at some distance from the outer margin. The lower 
wings beneath are dull orange with a large and a small 
silvery spot in the centre surrounded with rust-red, 
and a curved row of small black spots. Fringe of the 
wings roseate. The caterpillar is green with two 
white lines on both sides; each segment is marked 
with two irregular transverse series of black spots. 
Its food is not precisely ascertained. 



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[January 6, 




[Perujcino.— The figures from a picture in the Musenm at Bologna.] 



ESSAYS ON THE LIVES OF REMARKABLE 
PAINTERS.— No. XX.* 
Pietro Perugino: 1446 — 1524. 
Francesco Francia: 1450—1517. 
The fame of Perugino rests more on his having been 
the master and instructor of Raphael, than on his own 
works or worth. Yefhe was a great and remarkable 
man in his own day : interesting in ours as the repre- 
sentative of a certain school of art immediately pre- 
ceding that of Raphael. Francesco Francia has left 
behind him a name perhaps less known and celebrated, 
but far more revereo. 
Pietro Vannucci was born at a little town in Urn- 

* By an oversight in the la*t number of the*? essays, XVIII. 
was repeated instead of XIX. 



bria, called Citta-della-Pieve, and he was known for 
the first thirty years of his life as Pietro della Pieve ; 
after he had settled at Perugia, and had obtained there 
the rights of citizenship, he was called Pietro di Pe- 
rugia, or II Perugino, by which name he is best 
known. 

The territory of Umbria in Italy comprises that 
mountainous region of the Ecclesiastical States now 
called the Duchy of Spoleto. Perugia, Foligno, Assisi, 
and Spoleto were among its principal towns ; and the 
whole country, with its retired valleys and isolated 
cities, was distinguished in the middle ages as the pe- 
culiar seat of religious enthusiasm. Art, as usual, 
reflected the habits and feelings of the people, and here 
Gentile da Fabriano, the beloved friend of Angelico da 
Fiesole, exercised a particular influence. No less 
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than thirteen or fourteen Umbrian painters, who 
flourished between the time of Gentile and that of 
Raphael, are mentioned in Passavant's 'Life of Ra- 
phael.' This mystical and spiritual direction of art 
extended itself to Bologna, and found a worthy inter- 
preter in Francesco Francia. We shall, however, speak 
first of Perugino. 

We know little of the early life and education of 
Perugino ; his parents were respectable, but poor. His 
first instructor is supposed to have been Nicolo Alunno. 
At this time (about 1470) Florence was considered as 
the head-quarters of art and artists ; and the young 
painter, at the age of five and twenty, undertook a 
journey to Florence as the most certain path to excel- 
lence and fame. 

Vasari tells us that Pietro was excited to industry by 
being constantly told of the great rewards and honours 
which the professors of painting had earned in ancient 
and in modern times, and also by the pressure of po- 
verty. He left Perugia in a state of absolute want, 
and reached Florence, where he pursued his studies for 
many months with unwearied diligence, but so poor 
meanwhile that he had not even a bed to sleep on. 
He studied in the chapel of Masaccio in the Carmine, 
which has been already mentioned ; received some in- 
struction in drawing and modelling from Andrea Ver- 
rocchio ; and was a friend and fellow-pupil of Leonardo 
da Vinci. They are thus mentioned together in a con- 
temporary poem written by Giovanni Santi, the father 
of the great Raphael : — 

" Due giovin par d' etate e par d* anion, 
Lionardo da Vinci e' 1 Perusino 
Pier della Pieve, che ion divin Pittori." 

i . e. " Two youths, equal in yean, equal in affection, 
Lionardo da Vinci and the Perugtan 
Peter della Pieve, both divine painten." 

But though " par d' etate e par d' amori," they cer- 
tainly were not equal in gifts. Perugino dwindles 
into insignificance when we think of the triumphant 
and universal powers of Leonardo: but this is antici- 
pating. 

There can be no doubt that Perugino possessed 
genius and feeling, but of a confined order ; it was as 
if the brightness of his genios kept up a continual 
struggle with the meanness of his soul, and in the end 
was overpowered and held down by the growing weak- 
ness and debasement ; yet when young in his art a | 



pure and gentle feeling guided his pencil ; and in the 
desire to learn, in the fixed determination to improve 
and to excel, his good sense and his calculating spirit 
stood him in good stead. There was a famous convent 
near Florence, in which the monks — not lazy nor ig- 
norant, as monks are usually described — carried on 
several arts successfully, particularly the art of painting 
on glass. Perugino was employed to paint some fres- 
coes in their convent, and also to make designs for the 
glass-painters : in return, he learned how to prepare and 
to apply many colours not yet in general use ; and the 
lucid and vigorous tints to which his eye became ac- 
customed in their workshop certainly influenced his 
style of colouring. He gradually rose in estimation ; 
painted a vast number of pictures and frescoes for the 
churches and chapels of Florence, and particularly an 
altar-piece of great beauty for the famous convent of 
Vallombrosa. In this he represented the Assumption 
of the Virgin, who is soaring to heaven in the midst of 
a choir of angels, while a company of saints beneath 
look upwards with adoration and astonishment. This 
excellent picture is preserved in the Academy of the 
Fine Arts at Florence, and near it is the portrait of the 
Abbot of Vallombrosa, by whose order it was painted. 
Ten years after Perugino had first entered Florence a 
poor nameless youth, he was called to Rome by Pope 
Sixtus IV. to assist with most of the distinguished 
painters of that time in painting the famous Sistine 
Chapel. All the frescoes of Perugino except two were 
afterwards effaced to make room for Michael Angelo's 
Last Judgment. Those which remain show that the 
style of Perugino at this time was decidedly Floren- 
tine, and quite distinct from his earlier and later 
works. They represent the Baptism of Christ in the 
river Jordan, and Christ delivering the Keys to St. 
Peter. While at Rome he also painted a room in the 
palace of Prince Colonna. When he returned to 
Perugia he resumed the feeling and manner of his 
earlier years, combined with better drawing and colour- 
ing, and his best pictures were painted between 1490 
and 1502 ; his principal work, however, was the ball of 
the College del Cambio at Perugia, most richly and 
elaborately painted with frescoes, which still exist. The 
personages introduced exhibit a strange mixture of the 
sacred and profane : John the Baptist and other saints, 
Isaiah, Moses, Daniel, David, and other prophets, are 
figured on the walls with Fabius Maximus, Socrates, 
Pythagoras, Pericles, Horatius Cocles, and other Greek 



fProm the Entombment, in tlie Talazzo Pitti.] 



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and Roman worthies. Other pictures painted in 
Perugia are remarkable for the simplicity, grace, and 
dignity of his Virgins, the infantine sweetness of the 
children and cherubs, and the earnest, ardent expression 
in the heads of his saints. 

Perugino, in the very beginning of the sixteenth 
century, was certainly the most popular painter of his 
time ; a circumstance which, considering that Raphael, 
Francia, and Leonardo da Vinci were all working at 
the same time, would surprise us did we not know that 
contemporary popularity is not generally the recom- 
pense ol the most distinguished genius: in fact Perugino 
has produced some of the weakest and worst, as well 
as some of the most exquisite pictures in the world. 
He undertook an immense number of works, and 
employed his scholars and assistants to execute them 
from his designs. A passion, of which perhaps the 
seeds were sown in his early days of poverty and 
misery, had taken possession of his soul. He was 
no longer excited to labour by a spirit of piety or 
the generous ambition to excel, but by a base and 
insatiable thirst for gain : all his late pictures, from 
the year 1505 to his death, betray the influence of 
this mean passion. He aimed at nothing beyond me- 
chanical dexterity, and to earn his money with as little 
expense of time and trouble as possible ; he became more 
and more feeble, mannered, and monotonous, continually 
repeating the same figures, actions, and heads, till his 
very admirers were wearied ; and on his last visit to 
Florence, Michael Angelo, who had never done him 
justice, pronounced him, with contempt, •• Goffo neW 
arte" that is, a mere bungler ; for whicli affront Pietro 
summoned him before the magistrates, but came off 
with little honour. He was no longer what he had 
been. Such was his love of money, or such his mistrust 
of his family, that when moving from place to place he 
carried his beloved gold with him ; and being on one 
occasion robbed of a large sum, he fell ill, and was like 
to die of grief. It seems, however, hardly consistent 
with the mean and avaricious spirit imputed to him, that 
having married a beautiful girl of Perugia, he took 
great delight in seeing her arrayed, at home and abroad, 
in the most costly garments, and sometimes dressed 
her with his own hands. To the reproach of avarice— 
too well founded—some writers have added that of irre- 
ligion : nay, two centuries after his death they showed 
the spot where he was buried in unconsecrated ground 
under a few trees, near Fontignano, he having refused 
to receive the last sacraments : this accusation has been 
refuted ; and in truth there is such a divine beauty in 
some of the best pictures of Perugino, such exquisite 
purity and tenderness in his Madonnas, such an expres- 
sion of enthusiastic faith and devotion in some ol the 
heads, that it would be painful to believe that there 
was no corresponding feeling in his heart. In one or 
two of his pictures he has reached a degree of sublimity 
worthy of him who was the master of Raphael, but the 
instances are few. 

In our National Gallery there is a little Madonna 
and Child by Perugino. The Virgin is seen half-length 
holding the infant Christ, who is standing in front and 
grasps in his little hand one of the tresses of her long 
fair hair; the young St. John is seen half-length on the 
left, looking up with joined hands. It is an early pic- 
ture painted before his first residence at Florence, and 
before he had made his first essays in oil : it is very 
feeble and finical in the execution, but very sweet and 
simple in the expression. 

In the Louvre at Paris there is a curious allegorical 
picture by Perugino, representing the Combat of Love 
and Chastity ; many figures in a landscape. It seems a 
late production — feeble and tasteless ; and the subject 
is precisely one least adapted to the painter's style and 
powers. 



In almost every collection on the Continent there are 
works of Perugino, for he was so popular in hi.3 life- 
time, that his pictures were as merchandise, and sold all 
over Italy. His scholars were very numerous, but the 
fame of all the rest is 6 wallowed up in that of his 
great disciple Raphael. Bernardino di Perugia, called 
Pinturicchio, was rather an assistant than a pupil : 
he has left some excellent works. 

Pietro Perugino died in 1524. He survived Raphao. 
four years, and he may be said, during the last twenty- 
five years of lfis life, to have survived himself. 



ELASTIC CEMENT. 

There have been within the last few years many at- 
tempts made to produce a glue or cement which shall 
be more coherent than even woody fibres in their na- 
tural state. The subject is a curious one, and shows 
that our current ideas, respecting the cohesion or 
strength of wood, require a little modification. How- 
ever solid a piece of wood may appear to the eye, it is 
nevertheless a mere bundle of minute fibres and ves- 
sels, each one complete and independent in itself, yet 
all combined into a solid mass. The power which 
holds them side by side, or in intimate contact, is 
great ; but we are wrong in supposing it greater than 
that which an artificial cement between two surfaces 
would exert. If a piece of lead, such as a bullet, be 
cut in two, and the two cut surfaces be rubbed against 
each other, they will shortly become so smooth that 
they will cohere, and each piece will support the other 
without further assistance. In this case the friction 
works out all the air from between the surfaces, and 
smooths down all the asperities, so that the cohesive at- 
traction, which forms one of the mechanical proper- 
ties of matter, has opportunity to exert itself, and to 
reunite the severed pieces. The same might, perhaps, 
be the case with a piece of wood severed into two, 
were it not that the fibrous nature of the wood pre- 
vents the complete expulsion of air, and also prevents 
the two surfaces from being rubbed to so homogene- 
ous a state as the two surfaces of lead. If, however, a 
very thin layer of some other substance be introduced, 
so as to expel air and to adhere to each surface sepa- 
rately, the two surfaces will themselves unite ; and it 
remains to be seen whether or not this artificial joining 
is as retentive and strong as the natural coherence of 
the woody fibre. 

Such a cement as we here allude to is glue; and 
there has been proof given recently that a glue or 
cement so used may exceed in cohering power the 
woody fibres themselves. It is generally from some 
kind of animal substance that cement for wood is pre- 
pared ; differing in this respect, as in others, from the 
cement used for stone. 

Before speaking further of the new retentive cement, 
| to which allusion was just made, we will briefly notice 
' the nature and preparation of common glue, the gene- 
ral representatives of this class of cements. 

Glue may be obtained from the hides, hoofs, and 
horns of animals ; the cars of oxen, calves, and sheep : 
the parings of parchment; the refuse scrapings of 
leather-yards ; and indeed from almost any kind of 
animal matter containing gelatine. However diffe- 
rent " calves-foot jelly *' and " isinglass" may seem to 
be from coarse glue, yet they are at one end of the 
same scale of substances which has glue at the other : 
they are all varieties more or less pure of gelatine. 
Although glue can, however, be prepared from a va- 
riety of different sources, it is in practice procured 
almost entirely from the refuse of leather and parch- 
ment dressing ; for horns and hoofs are more profitably 
sold bv the tanner to others than glue-makers. Of all 



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the glue made in England, a very large portion is 
produced at Bermondsey, in the vicinity of the great 
leather-dressing establishments of that district. In 
some cases the glue-manufacturer contracts for the 
purchase of all the scraps and offal resulting from the 
dressing of leather in one or more establishments ; and 
these contracts exemplify the value which attaches to 
apparently worthless things, when once they can be 
brought to rank among the materials of manufactures. 
Rough and ragged edges of skins, scrapings from 
*kins, and scrapings from parchment, constitute the 
chief sources whence glue is prepared ; and in some 
cases these refuse fragments — not only useless to the 
leather-dresser, but a great nuisance if he had to keep 
them— are worth more than a thousand pounds a year 
to the owner of one establishment, for sale to the glue- 
manufacturers. 

The extraction of the gelatinous matter from the 
fragments is effected principally by boiling. The frag- 
ments are freed from dirt, blood, and other impurities, 
by being steeped in lime and water, and then rinsed in 
a clear stream. In the large glue manufactories there 
are covered sheds containing stages one above another, 
each stage containing rails or racks in which the frag- 
ments of hide are hung for several months in the year, 
to dry. 

The boiling is effected in shallow vessels, each pro- 
vided with a false bottom a few inches above the true 
one, and pierced with holes. Into this boiler the frag- 
ments are placed, the false bottom preventing them 
from being burned by the heat of the fire. Soft water 
is employed, and the boiling i3 continued until the 
water becomes thickened by the gelatine extracted 
from the fragments. The tenacity of the extract is 
tested from time to time, by taking out small portions, 
and allowing them to cool in the open air. When 
completed, the gelatinous liquid is drawn off into a 
second vessel, where it is kept in a liquid state for 
some time by being surrounded with hot water ; dur- 
ing which time any sedimentary impurities are depo- 
sited; and these impurities, by a further boiling, are 
made to yield up any gelatine that they may yet 
retain. 

The liquid gelatine is transferred from the settling 
vessels into cooling boxes, where it assumes the solid 
form. These boxes, which are made of deal, have a 
square form, but are somewhat narrower at the bottom 
than at the top. The liquid is filtered through cloths 
while passing into the boxes, as a means of cleansing 
it; and the process is conducted in a dry and cool 
apartment. In a greater or shorter space of time, 
varying from twelve to twenty hours, according to the 
season, the glue solidifies, or at least assumes the con- 
sistence of a stiff jelly. The boxes are then taken to a 
cool and airy apartment, where they are inverted, and 
the mass ot jelly deposited on a moistened table or 
board. Each of these masses is too thick to harden 
while in this form, and is therefore cut up into thinner 
cakes, as a means of letting the air act more readily 
upon it. This is done somewhat in the way that large 
masses of soap are cut up in the soap-factories, viz., by 
means of a wire ; the wire is stretched in a frame, and 
is guided by rollers, so as to cut the masses into parallel 
slices or cakes, all of equal thickness. The thickness 
of these cakes may be judged pretty nearly from that 
of the pieces sold in the shops. The glue-maker then 
avails himself of a large number of nets spread over 
frames, and in these frames the cakes of glue are care- 
fully laid. All the frames, as they are filled, are 
placed in successive stages in the open air, an interval 
of an inch or two being left between the successive 
frames in the pile. Any one who has passed along the 
Greenwich Railway may have seen, at a distance of 
about a mile from the London Bridge terminus, one or 



more fields occupied almost wholly by small erections 
of lramework three or four feet in height. These 
fields are attached to glue-manufactories, and the small 
erections are piles of drying- frames, each frame filled 
with slices or cakes of glue exposed to the action of the 
air, and a roof being over each group to shelter them 
from the rain. The cakes of glue are turned over two 
or three times a day, in order that the two sides may be 
dried equally. Cold, heat, damp, fog, wind, a thunder- 
storm, indeed any sudden change in the weather, has 
a very visible effect in the quality of the glue ; and the 
drying becomes therefore one of the most important 
parts of the manufacture. 

Such is the general nature of the production of 
common glue ; and the degree of tenacity which it 
possesses as a cement for wood is pretty well known. 
There has, however, within a year or two past, been a 
kind of cement invented, which although resembling 
glue in so far as it is a cement for wood, yet differs 
from it considerably in the mode of formation and the 
degree of tenacity. 

The cement of which we here speak was patented 
by Mr. Jeifery in 1842. The object of the patent was 
stated to be '• for a new method of preparing masts, 
spars, and other wood, for ship-building, and other 
purposes ;" the " new method " having relatiou to the 
cement with which various pieces of wood are joined 
together. In the specification of his patent, Mr. 
Jeffery describes his new cement to be made in the 
following manner. When a very elastic glue is 
desired, the patentee dissolves one pound of caoutchouc, 
or india-rubber, in four gallons of crude naphtha, 
frequently stirring the solution, until the caoutchouc 
is well dissolved, which will be in about ten or twelve 
days. To this mixture is added gum or shell-lac, in 
the proportion of two parts to one of the naphtha. 
The composition is then put into an iron vessel, to 
which heat is applied, the ingredients being well 
stirred until they have become thoroughly amal- 
gamated. It is then drawn off by means of a tap, on 
to slabs, where it is allowed to cool ; after which it is 
cut into pieces ready for use. When a less elastic glue 
is required, it is composed of one part of naphtha to 
two parts of gum or shell-lac. Previous to using, the 
glue or cement is heated in an iron pot to the tempe- 
rature of about two hundred and fifty degrees. 

One great object proposed in this invention was to 
produce a glue which should be at the same time 
elastic and insoluble in water. To test the strength of 
the glue, various experiments were made at Wool- 
wich, under the direction of the Board of Ordnance ; 
accounts of which were published in the public 
journals at the time. One of the experiments insti- 
tuted was the following : — Two pieces of African teak, 
a species of wood difficult to be joined together by 
glue on account of its oily nature, had a coating of the 
composition applied to them in a boiling state. In a 
short time afterwards bolts and screws were attached 
to each end, the joined wood was placed in the testing- 
frame, and the power of Bramah's hydraulic engine 
applied. No result was obtained till a pressure of 
nineteen tons was applied, when the chain broke with- 
out the slightest strain being susceptible where the 
joining took place. A larger chain, of an inch and a 
half in diameter, was then applied, and was broken 
with a strain of twenty-one tons, the joint in the wood 
remaining apparently as firm as at first. Thus show- 
ing in both cases that the cement joint was actually 
more coherent than the iron of the chain. 

In another experiment, four pieces of hard wood 
were joined together, weighing in one piece forty-four 
hundredweight, and carried to the top of the shears in 
the dock-yard, a height of seventy-six feet. From 
this elevation the mass of wood was precipitated on 



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[January 6, 



the bard granite wharf wall below, without any of tbe 
joints yielding in tbe smallest degree. 

These two experiments tested the new cement in 
respect to strain and concussion ; and it was next 
resolved, by the authorities of the Admiralty and the 
Ordnance, to try its efficacy against the power of 
cannon balls. A number of planks of oak eight inches 
thick, and others of fir sixteen inches square, were 
joined together with the cement, so as to represent a 
portion of the side of a first-rate ship of war, about 
eight feet in height, and eight in breadth ; without 
anything else in the shape of bolt or security to assist 
the composition. This mass of wood was set up as a 
target in Woolwich marshes ; and opposite to it were 
placed three new thirty-two pounder x guns, at a 
distance of four hundred yards. Three shots were 
fired ; upon which it was found that although the 
wood was much rent, yet in only one joint had the 
cement given way, the other joints having resisted 
this extraordinary amount of force. 

In other experiments the cement was exposed to 
the action of an internal force, tending to Durst or 
explode it, in order that there might be as great a 
variety of tests as possible. A hole six inches and a 
quarter in diameter was bored in the centre of the 
mass of wood used as a target in the last-named ex* 
peri merit; and in this hole was placed a thirty-two 
pounder shell. The shell being exploded by a match, 
the wood became torn to splinters, and yet many of 
the joints remained uninjured. On another occasion, 
in the autumn of 1842, while the Ordnance officers 
were making experiments on some new concussion 
shells, Mr. Jeffery's cement underwent a further trial. 
A massive block of wood, about five feet long by two 
feet six inches broad, was formed by joining together 
pieces about fifteen inches square each, the new ce- 
ment being the only means of junction. This block 
of wood was then bored to the centre, exactly in the 
middle of the joining, and a five and a half inch shell 
inserted, for the purpose of tearing the wood to pieces. 
On a port-fire being ignited, the shell soon exploded, 
tearing the solid wood in all directions into numerous 
liu&uients, but in no part separating the pieces where 
the joining with the cement was made. 

It appears from the nature of the above experiments 
that the elasticity of the cement is one of its most re- 
markable properties, for mere strength would not 
enable it to resist a fall of seventy or eighty feet if 
there were not elasticity to accommodate it to the 
flexure or yielding of the wood. The inventor, in the 
specification of his patent, states his cement to have 
the advantage of being insoluble in water ; but we do 
not know whether any extensive experiments have 
been introduced to illustrate this property, nor 
whether any practical application in ship-building or 
engineering nas resulted from the Woolwich ex- 
periments. 

Description of Paris in 1579, by a Venetian Ambassador. — 
From the salubrity of tbe climate, the natives would live long, 
if they did not ruin their stomachs with over-eating, spending on 
food and habiliments without rule or measure. Male dress so 
various in form, that to describe it were impossible. A hat 
whose broad brim falls on the shoulders, or a " beret" which hardly 
covers the top of the head ; a cloak which descends to the ankle, 
ox barely reaches the loins ; the manner of wearing these habits 
not less curious than the habits themselves. One sleeve but- 
toned, the other open, and the cloak pendant from one shoulder; 
and the change of costume usual among men, necessitating an 
extraordinary expense in woollen stuff and cloths of silk and 
gold ; since no man is esteemed rich if he has not twenty or thirty 
suits of different kinds, so that he may change daily. The women 
have a mode of dress more modest and less variable. The noble 
lady wears a hood of black velvet, or a coiffe, wrought in ribbons 
of silk or gold, or in jewels, and has a mask on her face. The 
citizen's wife wears a cloth hood, the mask and silken bead-gear 



being denied to her rank. All wear gowns and cotillons as they 
please. Noblewomen distinguished by the site of the sleeves 
and variety of colours, while other females wear black only 
Widows have veils, and the clothing high to the throat, and over 
all a spenser. In mourning for parent or husband, they have 
also robes trimmed with hair or swans down. Men wear 
mourning only on the day of burial. It is easy to recognise un- 
married women in the street ; they follow closely their mothers' 
footsteps, and the domestics male or female again come after. 
Frenchwomen have generally the waist slightly formed, and 
using as they do hoops and other artifices to increase the circum- 
ference below, their appearance becomes more elegant still. The 
cotillon is of great value. As to tbe gown which is worn over 
all, it is usually of coarse serge or ordinary stuff, since the women 
at church kneel down anywhere and sit upon the ground. The 
bosom and shoulders are slightly veiled with game. Tbe head, 
neck, and arms, are ornamented with jewels ; the head-dress 
differs widely from that of Italy, as on the top of the bead are 
ornaments and tufts of hair which apparently increase the 
breadth of the forehead. They commonly wear black hair, since 
it sets off the paleness of the cheeks, and this paleness when not 
occasioned by malady is looked on as a charm. The French 
females arc seemingly full of devotion, but in fact very free. 
Each chooses to be treated as worthy esteem, and there is none, 
whatever her conduct, who does not find something to say 
against that of her neighbours. They are very insolent, and the 
cause is their husbands* over confidence, and allowing them to 
govern not only their households but themselves. They con- 
verse publicly with those they meet in the streets, and also go 
alone to church and market, remaining absent three or four 
hours without their husbands asking whither they are gone. Very 
agreeable in their manners, they have perhaps but one fault, 
avarice ; it is said that gold is omnipotent with all the women in 
the world, but with Frenchwomen silver suffices. — From the 
Foreign Quarterly Review. 



Christmas on the Frontiers of Lapland. — How cold, how gloomy 
it is! The window-panes are covered with ice; the morning 
twilight extends its hand to the evening twilight, and the dark 
night entombs the day. In Nordlana, however, the mid-day 
has a few bright moments ; the sun sheds still a few feeble beams, 
then he quickly disappears, and it becomes dark. Farther up in 
tbe country, people know nothing more of day — the night endures 
for months. They say in the north, that " nature sleeps," but this 
sleep resembles death ; like death, H is cold and ghastly, and * 
would obscure the heart of man, did not another light descend at 
the same time, if it did not open to tbe heart a warmer bosom 
and animate it with its life. In Sweden they know this very 
well, and whilst everything sleeps and dies in nature, all is set in 
motion in all hearts and homes for the celebration of a festival. 
Ye know it well, ye industrious daughters of home, ye who strain 
your hands and eyes by lamplight quite late into the night to 
prepare presents. You know it well, you sons of the house, you 
who bite your nails in order to puzzle out " what in all the world*' 
you shall choose for Christmas presents. Thou knowest it well, 
thou fair child, who hast no other anxiety man lest the Christman 
should lose his way and pass by the door. You know it well, 
you fathers aud mothers, with empty purses and full hearts ; ye 
aunts and cousins of the great and immortal race of needlewomen 
and workers in wool — ye welcome and unwelcome uncles and 
male cousins, ye know it well, this time of mysterious counte- 
nances and treacherous laughter! In the houses of the rich, fat 
roasts are prepared and dried fish ; sausages pour forth their fat, 
and tarts pun themselves up ; nor is there any hut so poor as not 
to have at this time a sucking pig squeaking in it, which must 
endeavour, for the greater part, to grow fat witji its own good 
humour. It is quite otherwise with the elements at this season. 
The cold reigns despotically ; it holds all life fettered in nature; 
restrains the heaving of the sea's bosom ; destroys every sprouting 
grass-blade ; forbids the birds to sing and the gnats to sport ; and 
only its minister, the powerful north wind, rolls freely forth into 
grey space, and takes heed that everything keeps itself immoveable 
and silent The sparrows only — those optimists of the air — remain 
merry, and appear by their twittering to announce better times. 
At length comes the darkest moment of the year, the midnight 
hour of nature, and suddenly light streams forth from all habi- 
tations, and emulates the stars of heaven. The church opens its 
bosom full of brightness and thanksgiving, and the children 
shout full of gladness, " It is Christmas ! It is Christmas!" Eartn 
sends her hallelujah on high ! — Fredtriku Bremer. 



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^ 



[Hudibras and Ralph.] 



HUDIBRAS.—No. I. 



About twenty year* ago* two barristers of the 

circuit, one of whom now occupies a high judicial 
situation, after having dined with the judges and the 
rest of their professional brethren, Btrolled a mile or 
two out of the country-town to enjoy the repose and 
quiet of the calm summer's evening after the turmoil 
of the day's exertions. On their return they were 
overtaken by a labouring man, to whom they made a 
passing renrork on the fineness of the evening, to which 
he replied, u Yes, sirs, 

" The moon pulls off bet veil of light 
That hides her face by day from sight 
(Mysterious veil, of brightness made, 
That* • both her lustre and her shade), 
And in the lanthorn of the night 
With shining horns hangs out her light. 1 ' 

" Hey-day P said one, "you quote Hudibras! Pray 
do you know any more of it?" " Yea, sir," replied 
the man ; " I have but few book*, and Hudibras is the 
one I moat admire, I know it all by heart.'* His 



no. 756. 



assertion was tested in repeated recitations of passages 
not the most familiar. He was the man of one book. 
Such a knowledge of Hudibras, however, indeed 
any real knowledge, is extremely rare. There is pro- 
bably no author who is so popular and so little under- 
stood. His couplets form apophthegms which are in 
every one's mouth, yet not one in a thousand has 
attempted to read his great poem, nor probably one in 
five hundred, even of those, who have gone through and 
attained a comprehension of the purpose of the whole. 
By the many it is considered a coarse though powerful 
satire, a low invective against the author's political oppo- 
nents, written in a burlesque do^grel style. A reader 
takes up the poem for the first time: he finds the style 
quaint ; the rhymes droll and ingenious, though irre- 
gulaj ; the rhythm faulty, with the occasional use of 
a word or an image not now to be mentioned " to ears 
polite ;" that there is little or no story, the adventures 
ludicrous, the characters grotesque and apparently in- 
congruous ; that the wit is so profuse as to dazzle, uud 
so allusive as to require more previous study of the 
most discursive kind than men usually possess for its 
due comprehension ; and that the dialogues are loug- 



Vol. XIII 



XDgfc 



10 



THE PENNY MAGAZINE. 



[January 13» 



winded, and so involved as to require great attention 
to follow. The book is laid down, not a^ain to be 
taken up, except again by accident, and this is called 
having read Hudibras. Even the taking it up for a 
first time is done generally rather in deference to the 
great arbiters of literary fame, not only of our own, 
but of foreign nations, than from a liking for the task : 
a man of any education must not be entirely ignorant 
of Hudibras. By the great vulgar and the small, from 
Pepys, who bought the work because he was told it 
was witty, thougn he could not find it out, to the de- 
vourers of the outpourings of the Minerva Press, 
Hudibras is quoted and praised, in utter ignorance of 
its true worth. 

But it has not been only by superficial readers 
that Hudibras has been misconstrued, as at least wc 
humbly presume to think. By his critics and his 
industrious editor Dr. Zachary Grey it has been un- 
hesitatingly assumed to be a mere attack and bitter 
satire on the Puritan party, and its author has been 
blamed or defended for embodying the character of 
one of his early patrons, Sir Samuel Luke, or Sir 
Henry Rose well, in that of Hudibras; and Ralph, and 
Talgol, and Crowdero, and Trulla, are all traced to 
supposed individual originals. We believe all the 
labour thus employed to have been wholly thrown 
away. Butler's mind was far too large and creative to 
reduce him to the necessity of borrowing or copying 
any particular person, nor do any of his characters 
bear such marks of individuality as to induce us to 
suppose them drawn from living originals. Any 
wooden-legged fiddler might have sat for Crowdero, 
as any * sporting butcher,' as we should now say, 
might have stood for Talgol ; and even in Sidrophel, 
who is certainly the best identified as Lilly, there is 
no personality, nothing unfitting for a conjuror of even 
the present day : nothing but the words or acts that 
might characterise a class. Butler was no doubt a 
royalist and a Church-of-England man; in Hudibras 
and Ralph he has no doubt embodied the Presbyterian 
and Independent parties; but though his subject was 
thus rendered local and transitory, the wide grasp of his 
intellect, the justness and impartiality of his general 
views, have rendered the satire he applied to them ap- 
plicable to folly, meanness, selfishness, hypocrisy, con- 
ceitedness. scholastic pedantry -to, in fact, all the worst 
rank growth of the human mind, through all time and 
in all situations. It is this that has made him so pro- 
verbial. His couplets, with the terseness and sting of 
epigrams, are found to fit now as well as they did then ; 
but he heaps them one over the other in boundless pro- 
fusion, while we, his borrowers, find one sufficient for 
most of our purposes. 

Nor is it to be taken for granted that Butler was the 
indiscriminating satirist of what was then called the 
Puritan party. It is true that, passing from one ex- 
treme to the other, from the pomp and imposing cere- 
mony of the old Roman Catholic church, the Puritans 
had been gradually approximating to the coldest, 
barest, and most unimaginative utilitarianism ; and 
Butler felt, like Gothe, that u it is the beautiful which 
needs encouragement, for all require it, and but few 
can create it;" and he therefore attacked unsparingly 
these defects of their general character : but he has 
shown himself by no means unaware of the follies of 
their opponents, and has dwelt chiefly on those matters 
of dissent or dispute depending on form or mere meta- 
physical abstraction, rather than on any of those more 
material subjects of discussion on whicn he knew there 
was abundant room to differ conscientiously. 

In a few papers on this great poem we shall en- 
deavour to establish some of these points; whilst the 
vast variety of allusions to and descriptions of the 
manners, tastes, customs, and doctrines of the day will 



afford opportunities of mutually elucidating passage* 
of the poem and the history of the times, while they 
will be further adorned with pictorial illustrations frum 
the pencil of Harvey and the graver of Jackson. Wc 
shall thus, we trust, though our extracts must neces- 
sarily be concise, awaken attention to a proper appre- 
ciation of the true beauties of this extraordinary poem. 
Butler opens his poem with a rapid sketch of the 
state of society — 

14 When civil dudgeon first grew high. 
And men fell out they knew not why, 

* * * * * 
And pulpit, drum ecclesiastic, 

Was beat with fist instead of a stick ;" 

proceeds to describe his hero, who embodies charac- 
teristics far too multifarious to suit any individual, but 
exactly fitting the various modifications of the party ; 
— endowing him with wit and scholastic subtlety suffi- 
cient to endow a college, yet holding him up to the 
most unsparing ridicule for their misapplication : 
" A wight he was, whose very sight would 

Entitle him, Mirror of Knighthood ; 

That never bow'd his stubborn knee 

To any thing but chivalry ; 

Nor put up blow, but that which laid 

Right worshipful on shoulder-blade." 
The adoption of aristocratic distinctions, and the 
sternness and spiritual pride of the party, are here dis- 
tinctly depicted. Of his mental qualifications, the de- 
tails occupy one hundred and seventy lines, attributing 
to him all the pedantic learning, together with its 
ostentatious display, which characterise the writings of 
many of the polemical disputants of the time, and which 
will be noticed on future occasions. Of his personal 
appearance we must give nearly the whole, in order to 
introduce him thoroughly to our readers. Having, 
with the assistance of our engraving, once made an 
acquaintance with him and his redoubted squire, we 
can with the greater ease remark upon their in- 
tellectual qualities while pursuing their adventures or 
considering their debates : — 

" His tawny beard was th' equal grace 
Both of his wisdom and his face ; 
Iti cut and dye so like a tile, 
A sudden view it would beguile; 
The upper part thereof was whey, 
The nether orange mix'd with gray. 
This hairy meteor did denounce 
The fall of sceptres and of crowns. 

* * * * * 
His back, or rather burthen, show'd, 
As if it stoop 'd with its own load ; 

***** 
To poise thii equally, he bore 
A paunch of the same bulk before ; 
Which still he had a special care 
To keep well crammM with thrifty fare; 
As white-pot, buttermilk, and curds, 
Such as a couutry- house affords ; 
With other victual, which anon 
We farther shall dilate upon, 
When of his hose we coine to treat, 
The cupboard where he kept his meat. 

" His doublet was of sturdy buff, 
And tbo' not sword yet cudgel proof ; 
Whereby 'twas fitter for his use 
Who fear'd no blows but such as bruise. 
" His breeches were of rugged woollen, 
And had been at the siege of Bullen ; 
To old King Harry, so well known, 
Some writers held they were his own. 
Thro' they were lin'd with many a- piece 
Of ammunition bread and cheese, 
And fat black puddings, proper food 
For warriors that delight in blood. , 



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For, as we said, he always chose 
To carry victual in his hose, 
That often tempted rats and mice 
The ammunition to surprise : 
And when he put a hand but in 
The one or t'other magazine, 
They stoutly in defence on't stood, 
And from the wounded foe drew blood ; 
And 'till th' were storm'd and beaten out, 
Ne'er left the fortifi'd redoubt. 
• * * * 

" His puissant sword unto his side, 
Near his undaunted heart was tied ; 
With basket hilt, that would hold broth, 
And serve for fight and dinner both. 
In it he melted lead for bullets, 
To shoot at foes, and sometimes pullets ; 
To whom he bore so fell a grutch, 
He ne'er gave quarter t* any such. 
The trenchant blade, Toledo trusty, 
For want of fighting was grown rusty, 
And ate into itself, for lack 
Of somebody to hew and hack. 
The peaceful scabbard, where it dwelt, 
The rancour of its edge had felt : 
For of the lower end two handful 
It had devoured, 'twas so manful ; 
And so much scorn'd to lurk in case, 
As if it durst not show its face. 
In many desperate attempts, 
Of warrants, exigents, contempts, 
It had appear'd with courage bolder 
Than Serjeant Bum invading shoulder. 
Oft had he ta'eu possession, 
And nris'ners too, or made them run. 

" This sword a dagger had, his page, 
That was but little for his age : 
And therefore waited on him so, 
As dwarfs upon knights-errant do. 
It was a serviceable dudgeon, 
Either for fighting or for drudging. 
Wheu it had stabb'd, or broke a head, 
It would scrape trenchers, or chip bread ; 
Toast cheese or bacon, tho' it were 
To bait a mouse-trap 'twould not care. 
Twould make clean shoes, and in the earth 
Set leeks and onions, and so forth. 
It had been 'prentice to a brewer, 
Where this and more it did endure ; 
But left the trade, as many more 
Have lately done on the same score. 

" In th 1 holsters at his saddle-bow 
Two aged pistols he did stow, 
Among the surplus of such meat 
As in his hose he could not get. 
These would inveigle rats with th' scent, 
To forage when the cocks were bent ; 
And sometimes catch 'em with a snap, 
As cleverly as th' ablest trap. 
They were upon hard duty still, 
And every night stood centinel, 
To guard the magazine \ th' hose 
From two-legg'd and from four-legg'd foes. 

" Thus clad and fortified, Sir Knight 
From peaceful home set forth to fight ; 
But first, with nimble active force 
He got on th' outside of his horse, 
For having but one stirrup tied 
T his saddle, on the further side, 
It was so short, h' had much ado 
To reach it with his desp'rate toe. 
And after many strains and heaves, 
He got up to the saddle eaves ; 
From whence he vaulted into th' seat 
With so much vigour, strength, and heat, 
That he had almost tumbled over 
With his own weight, but did recover 
By laying hold of tail and mane ; 
Which oft he used instead of rein. 

M But now we talk of mounting steed, 
Before we further do proceed, 



It doth behove us to say something 
Of that which bore our valiant Bumpkin." 
The beast was sturdy, large, and tall, 
With mouth of meal and eyes of wall ; 
I would say eye, for h' had but one, 
As most agree, though some say none. 
He was well stay'd, and in his gait 
Preserv'd a grave, majestic state. 
At spur or switch no more he skipt, 
Or mended pace, than Spaniard whipt : 
And yet so fiery, he would bound 
As if he griev'd to touch the grouud : 
That Caesar's horse, who, as fame goes, 
Had corns upon his feet and toes, 
Was not by half so tender hoof d, 
Nor trod upon the ground so soft. 
But as that beast would kneel and stoop 
(Some write) to take his rider up, 
So Hudibras his ('tis well known) 
Would often do to set him down. 
We shall not need to say what lack 
Of leather was upon his back ; 
For that was hidden under pad, 
And breech of knight, gall'd full as bad. 
His strutting ribs on both sides show'd 
Like furrows he himself had plough'd ; 
For underneath the skirt of pannel, 
'Twixt every two there was a channel. 
His draggling tail hung in the dirt, 
Which on his rider he would flirt, 
Still as his tender side he prick'd 
With arm'd heel, or with unarm'd kick'd ; 
For Hudibras wore but one spur. 
• • • * 

" A squire he had whose name was Ralph, 
That in th' adventure went his half, 
Though writers, for more stately tone, 
Do call him Ralpho, 'tis all one : 
And when we can with metre safe. 
We'll call him so ; if not, plain Ralph ; 
(For rhyme the rudder is of verses, 
With which, like ships, they steer their courses). 
An equal stock of wit and valour 
He had laid in ; by birth a tailor. 
The mighty Tyrian queen, that gain'd 
With subtle shreds a tract of land, 
Did leave it with a castle fair 
To his great ancestor, her heir : 
From him descended cross-legged knights, 
Fam'd for their faith, and warlike tights 
Against the bloody cannibal, 
Whom they destroy'd, both great and small. 
This sturdy squire, he had, as well 
As the bold Trojan knight, seen hell, 
Not with a counterfeited pass 
Of golden bough, but true gold lace. 
His knowledge was not far behind 
The knight's, but of another kind, 
And he another way came by *t ; 
Some call it gifts, and some new light : 
A liberal art that costs no pains 
Of study, industry, or braius. 
His wit was sent him for a token, 
But in the carriage crack'd and broken, 
Like commendation uinepence, crook'd, 
With — to and from my love, it look'd." # 



Practical Phihmphy in a small way.— Many persons may have 
noticed the great rapidity with which the sacks of malt are raised 
to the tops of the lofty London brewhouses, and may, without 
knowing wherefore, have observed that they shoot upwards like 
an arrow, notwithstanding that being drawn from various parts 
of the waggon, they must often start with a tendency to swing 
about. This, and all other causes of irregular movement or vi- 
bration, are counteracted by the man in the cart, who gives the 
sack a slight twirl as it leaves his hand, which rifles it as effec- 
tually as if it were discharged from a twisted barrel. This is, 
perhaps, as pretty an example of science applied to humble mat- 
I ters as will easily be met with.— Gardener'* Chronicle. 

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[Remains of Caligula'* Lighthouse.] 



ROMAN LIGHTHOUSE AT BOULOGNE. 

Bouloons is now perhaps the town in France best 
known to Englishmen, not even excepting Paris. The 
facility of intercourse between it and our own shores 
carries to it so large a number of visitors, that a notice 
of the more remarkable objects of interest it contains 
cannot but be acceptable. In Number 426 we gave an 
account of the Museum, and in Number 612 a notice of 
the Napoleon Column ; but there is yet one circum- 
stance in its ancient history, namely, that of its having 
been, more than a thousand years since, the chief port 
for the embarkation of the Romans during tneir 
intercourse with our island, and one of the principal 
places with which the commerce of that period wa9 
carried on, that is curious from its showing the 
similarity of its relation to our own country at so re- 
mote a period. In order to ensure as much safety 
as was practicable in their intercourse, the Romans 
constructed lighthouses at different points. 

"When the poor fishermen of Rutupiae (Rich- 
borough)/' says the author of • Old England,' "steered 
his oyster-laden bark to Gesoriacutn (Boulogne), the 
pharos of Dover lent its light to make his path across 
the Channel less perilous and lonely. At Boulogne 
there was a corresponding lighthouse of Roman work ; 
an octagonal tower, with twelve stages or floors, rising 
to the height of one hundred and twenty-five feet. 
This tower is said to have been the work of Caligula : 
it once stood a bowshot from the sea; but in the 
course of sixteen centuries the cliff was undermined, 
and it fell in 1644. The pharos of Dover has had a 
somewhat longer date, from the nature of its position. 
No reverence for the past has assisted to preserve what 
remains of one of the most interesting memorials of 
that dominion which had such important influences in 
the civilization of England." The completeness of the 
destruction may be judged of from the view given, 
though the incontestable evidences of its former ex- 
istence and strength yet remain in the massive ruins. 

Boulognt was a place of great antiquity : it was in 



the country of the Morini, a tribe of the Belgae, and 
was known to the Romans by the name of Gesoriacum, 
according to the testimony of Mela, a geographer who 
flourished in the time of the emperor Claudius. The 
manner in which Mela speaks of it implies that it was 
of Gallic origin ; and it was in his time the place of 
greatest note on that coast. Some writers, and among 
them Montfaucon, Ciuverius, Sanson, and Le Quien, 
have endeavoured to show that Boulogne was also the 
Portus Itius, from which Julius Csaaar embarked for 
Britain in his first (according to Strabo) and second 
expeditions to that island ; but their opinion is re- 
jected by D'Anville, who agrees with Du Cange, and 
with our own antiquary Camden, in fixing the Portus 
Itius at Witsand or Wissan, a small town near Cap dc 
Griz Nez. Gesoriacum became, under the Romans, 
the chief port of embarkation for Britain : here, D'An- 
ville thinks, was the tower erected by Caligula, when 
he marched to the coast of Gaul in order to invade 
Britain ; and the emperor Claudius, aecording to 
Suetonius, embarked here for that island. The port in 
Britain with which a communication was chiefly main- 
tained was Rutupiss, now Richborougb, near Sand- 
wich. About the time of the emperor Constantine, the 
name of Bononia was substituted for that of Gesoria- 
cum, and the latter is not used by Ammianus Marcel- 
linus, Eutfopius, and other writers of a later period. 
In the Notitia Provinciarum Galliarum, subjoined to 
the Itinerary of Antoninus, mention is made of the 
Civitas Bononensium as distinct from the Civitas Mo- 
rinorum, which indicates that the country of the 
Morini had been divided between two communities, of 
one of which Bononia was the capital. 

When, in the latter part of the third century, Carau- 
sius was proclaimed emperor by the legions in Britain, 
he possessed himself of Bononia, which appears to have 
been one of the Roman naval stations, for Carausius, 
before his revolt, had been directed to fit out from it a 
fleet to clear the sea of pirates. This town was in con- 
sequence besieged by the Ccesar Constantius Chlorus, 
father of Constantine the Great. The siege, which 



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ended in the capture of the town, was the occasion of 
serious detriment to it. In the fifth century Bononia 
is said to have been unsuccessfully attacked by Attila, 
king of the Huns; and in the ninth century it was laid 
waste by the Northmen, who landed just by. From 
the discovery of a ring to which the cables of vessels 
were fastened, it is thought that the sea flowed up as 
far as the present upper town of Boulogne, in which 
case Gesoriacum must have been at the bottom of a 
small bay-* 

Several Roman antiquities have been discovered at 
Boulogne ; among these are medals and tombs. During 
1823, 1826, and 1827, several tombs were discovered. 
Those discovered in 1823 were close to the sea ; those 
discovered in 1826 and 1827 were a little out of the 
town, on the right of the road to Paris. The coffins in 
these last-mentioned tombs were ranged in regular 
order, and the bones (some of which bore the marks of 
deep wounds) were in good preservation. Several 
wells, a Roman road, and the foundations of what was 
considered to be a votive altar, were discovered at the 
same place ; also many vases of different forms, and a 
great number of medals. Similar discoveries had been 
made before. On a cliff near the entrance of the port 
there stood a tower, of which the remains are repre- 
sented in the cut at the head of our article, from a 
sketch recently taken, which tower D'Anville con- 
siders to be one built by Caligula, as mentioned above. 
It was an octagon, and each side is said to have been 
about twenty-four or twenty-five French (equal to 
twenty-five and a half or twenty-six and a halt Eng- 
lish) teet (at the base, we presume), and it rose to the 
height of one hundred and twenty-five feet. It had 
twelve stages or floors, and the diameter of the tower 
appears to have diminished three feet at each stage, so 
as to form so many external galleries of a foot and a 
half in width, going all round the tower. On the top 
of the tower lights were placed, so that it served as a 
lighthouse to vessels navigating the Channel. The 
tower was built in a manner somewhat similar to that 
of the Palais des Thermes, a Roman edifice at Paris. 
It is built with iron grey-stone, three tiers together, 
succeeded by a double tier of a yellow stone of a 
softer texture, and on this a double tier of very hard 
and red bricks. At the time of its erection it stood 
more than a bowshot from the sea, but the cliff was so 
much excavated by the waves, and fell in so far, that 
the tower was at last undermined and overthrown in 
the vear 1644. It had been repaired by Charlemagne 
in the early part of the ninth century ; and when the 
English were in possession of Boulogne they sur- 
rounded this tower with a wall and towers, so as to 
convert it into a donjon, or keep of a fortress. These 
walls and towers shared the fate of the original Roman 
work in being overthrown by the advance of the sea. 
The tower was named in the middle ages Tarris ordam 
(supposed to be a corruption of ardens, burning) or 
ordemis ; and is still spoken of as the Tour d'Ordre. 
There were in the middle of the last century some 
ruins of the Roman walls, built of the same materials 
as the above-mentioned towers. 



ON THE PRODUCTION OF SOUND UNDER 
WATER. 

Experiments of a remarkable kind have at different 
times been made on the power of water to transmit 
sound, and on the comparison between it and the air 
as a medium for sound. Under ordinary circum- 
stances, we know but very little of the conveyance of 
sound under water ; our sound-producing instruments 
and our auditory apparatus being equally exposed to 
the open air. It would perhaps excite surprise in 
many to be told that sound can not only be conveyed 



under water, but that it travels faster in that medium 
than in air ; yet such is the case. 

The ' Philosophical Transactions ' contain many ac- 
counts of experiments made with a view to determine 
the action of Water in this respect. Mr. Anderson, 
about ninety years ago, tried in the first case how far 
persons under water could hear sounds produced in 
the air ; and in the next place, whether persons above 
water could hear sounds produced in the water. He 
caused three people to dive at once into water, and 
remain for a few seconds about two feet below the 
surface ; he then spoke to them as loud as he was able, 
and on their coming up they said they had heard him, 
but that bis voice sounded very low. He then caused 
them to dive to a depth of twelve feet below the 
surface, and fired a gun immediately above the water ; 
on coming up, they said they had heard it, but that the 
sound was exceedingly faint. The converse of many 
of these experiments was next tried. A diver con- 
trived to " halloo " under water, and produced a sound 
which was heard faintly above. 

The Abb6 Nollet descended to various depths be- 
neath the water, for the purpose of determining 
whether he could hear the sound of a bell rung above 
water ; the sound was faint, but always audible to him. 
Franklin, on one occasion, plunged his head below 
water, and caused a person to strike two stones to- 
gether beneath the surface ; at more than half a mile 
distance he heard the blows distinctly. 

In the year 1826 this subject was experimentally 
tested in a remarkable manner on the Lake of Geneva, 
by M. Colladon. One point which he wished to de- 
termine was, the duration and quality of sound in 
water. He found that the sound of a bell struck 
under water, and heard at some distance, had no 
resemblance to that of a bell struck in the open air. 
Instead of a prolonged sound, there is heard under 
water a short and sharp noise, which M. Colladon 
says he can compare to nothing better than to that of 
two knife-blades struck against each other ; and on 
retiring from the bell, the sound always preserves this 
character, diminishing only in intensity. 

M. Colladon provided a curious kind of apparatus 
for making these investigations. It consisted of a thin 
tin cylinder about eight or nine feet long, and eight 
inches in diameter, closed at one end and open at the 
other. This was plunged into the water, leaving the 
open end above tne surface ; and the ear, applied to 
this end, could hear any sonorous effects which might 
be the object of examination. With such a contri- 
vance, M . Colladon, applying his ear to the open end 
of the tube, while the closed end was immersed in the 
water of the lake of Geneva, could hear the sound of 
a bell struck under water, when the bell was so far 
distant as two thousand, six thousand, and in one 
instance, fourteen thousand metres (about nine miles). 
This latter distance was across the whole breadth of 
the lake, from Rolle to Thonon. The spot was par- 
ticularly well calculated for such an experiment, the 
water being very deep, without a trace ot any current, 
and of the most transparent purity. The signals were 
made by the inflammation of gunpowder, which being 
performed by the same blow of the hammer by which 
the bell was struck, all loss of time was effectually 
avoided. The lapse of time, in those experiments 
whose object was to determine the velocity of sound in 
water, was reckoned by a quarter-second stop-watch, 
and was computed from the appearance of the flash to 
the arrival of the sound. 

M. Colladon found that the power of hearing sounds 
produced in the water, when the head of the listener 
was out of the water, and no tube employed, depended 
greatly on whether he was nearly over the spot where 
the bell was placed. At a distance of two hundred 



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metres he beard the bell very distinctly, while at four 
or five hundred metres distance he could not hear the 
slightest sound, even when the car was almost close to 
the water. When, on, the contrary, the head was im- 
mersed for a few Beconds beneath the water, or the 
hearing-tube was employed, the sound could be heard 
distinctly at from ten to twenty times this distance. 
The employment of the tube had a remarkable effect 
in bringing the sound to the ear of the experimenter. 
M. Colladon remarks : — " The agitation produced by 
the waves does not alter the duration nor the velocity 
of sound, when a tube is used for hearing. The last 
of the three experiments mentioned above (f . e. two 
thousand, six thousand, and fourteen thousand metres) 
was made in stormy weather. The wind, which at 
first was weak, increased to such a degree, that several 
anchors were necessary to hold the vessel. Notwith- 
standing the noise of the waves, I could still distinguish 
pretty well the sound of each stroke, and the duration 
of its transmission was not altered." 

To ascertain the effect of screens or obstacles on the 
intensity of the sound, M. Colladon chose two stations, 
at no great distance apart, and so situated that the 
straight line which joined them grazed the extremity 
of a thick wall which rose above the level of the water, 
lie then caused a bell to be struck regularly, in the 
water, with strokes of equal intensity ; and on listening 
to the sound with the tube alternately on either side 
of the line which grazed the extremity of the wall, he 
found that there was a marked difference in intensity, 
according as this extremity was or was not interposed 
between the bell and the tube — the screen sensibly 
diminishing the intensity of the sound. 

Several years afterwards, viz. in 1837, Professor 
Bonnycastle, of the United States, performed some 
experiments, at the instance of the American Govern- 
ment, in furtherance of the inquiry into the trans- 
mission of sound in water. The American Govern- 
ment placed at his disposal the brig ' Washington,' in 
which he prosecuted his inquiries. He provided a 
small petard (a species of small cannon), about five 
inches long by two and a half in diameter, with ad- 
justments suitable for discharging it under water. As 
a sound-receiver, he provided a tube of tinned iron, 
eight feet long by an inch and a quarter in diameter, 
terminated at one extremity by a trumpet-shaped 
mouth twenty inches in diameter. He also had a 
cylindrical tube, similar to that employed by Colladon, 
closed at one end, and capable of being immersed to 
half its length in the water. He provided likewise a 
very delicate chronometer or time-measurer, capable 
of measuring fractional parts of a second of time. The 
ship's bell was removed from its place, and adjusted 
so as to be run^ under water. 

With these instruments Mr. Bonnycastle sought to 
determine how far distant a sound could be heard, 
when produced under water, and listened to with the 
aid of either of the two tubes. He found that the 
trumpet-shaped tube, being open at both ends, ad- 
mitted water into its interior, which effectually 
interfered with the success of the experiments. With 
the cylindrical tube, he heard the sound of the bell at 
a distance of a quarter of a mile, but at the distance 
of a mile the sound was wholly inaudible, thus present- 
ing a marked contrast to the results obtained by M. 
Colladon ; a contrast due, probably, to the existence of 
a current in the one case, but not in the other. He 
then modified the trumpet-shaped instrument, so that 
the mouth should be at right angles with the stem, and 
thus directed towards the bell ; and he also covered 
the mouth with thin metallic plate. These alterations 
being made, he found that the trumpet-tube conveyed 
the sound much more distinctly than the cylindrical, 
the difference being more and more marked as 



the distance was increased. The results, however, 
were not on the whole so satisfactory as those of M. 
Colladon. 

Mr. Bonnycastle then entered upon the experiments 
which were the main objects of nis attention, and for 
which the American Government had thought fitting 
to assist him. These were, to determine whether the 
depth of the sea could be found by the echo of a sound 
from its sandy bottom. It is known that in the open 
air the interval which elapses between the production 
of a sound and the return of its echo depends exactly 
on the distance of the echoing surface, and these quan- 
tities have been determined with very great exactness : 
thus, if a sound is echoed from a wall, and returns to 
the sound-producing instrument exactly one second 
after it was produced, then the wall is known to be 
about five hundred and sixty-five feet distant It was 
an analogous mode of calculation which Mr. Bonny- 
castle sought to obtain in the sea. The ship was 
moored at a considerable distance from the land ; the 
hearing tube was placed vertically in the water ; the 
petard was lowered ; and the observers prepared them- 
selves to listen for the echo. When the petard was 
fired, two distinct blows were heard, at an interval of 
about one-third of a second apart; the two shocks 
were also heard at the ship, and at the same interval 
apart. If the one was the echo of the other, then the 
echoing surface must have been about one hundred 
and sixty fathoms distant ; whereas on sounding, the 
bottom was found at five hundred and fifty fathoms. 
On the following day the experiment was repeated 
very close to the shore, when die interval of one-third 
of a second was still perceived between the shocks : 
this showed that the second could not have been an 
echo of the first from the bottom of the sea ; and Mr. 
Bonnycastle considers that he has failed in his object, 
at least so far as present modes of experiment are 
concerned. 

Still more recently, M. Colladon has stated that he 
has renewed his experiments, with a view to follow out 
the attempts made by Mr. Bonnycastle. In a letter to 
M. Arago, a year or two ago, lie gives several new 
results which he had obtained by his apparatus, which 
led him strongly to think that a useful mode of main- 
taining correspondence by submarine transmission of 
sound may one day come into use. On one occasion, 
M. Colladon had placed at his disposal a bell belong- 
ing to one of the churches at Geneva, weighing five 
hundred kilogrammes (eleven hundred pounds). 
This bell was suspended to an apparatus placed on a 
vessel, by means of which it was easy to sink the bell 
in the water and draw it up again. It was sunk to the 
depth of three metres (about ten feet), in a place 
where the water was about fifteen metres deep ; and 
to strike the bell he used a hammer weighing ten kilo- 
grammes, fixed to a long iron handle, the upper part 
of which was above the water and was bent at right 
angles. With this apparatus he made many experi- 
ments, and found that he could hear the sound of the 
bell under water distinctly at a distance of thirty-five 
thousand metres (considerably above twenty miles). 
M. Colladon states that the noise of a chain moving 
under water is so distinctly perceptible, that it may be 
known when a vessel, three thousand or four thousand 
metres distant, raises her anchor ; and he hints that 
this may be found advantageous in time of war. 

Should the transmission of sound under water be 
hereafter applied to a useful purpose, it will be owing 
mainly to the circumstance that the intensity of sound 
dies away les3 rapidly in water than on land. The 
possibility of applying this method to the determination 
of the depth ot the sea, seems to be a problem yet to be 
solved ; tor the experiments hitherto made have not 
afforded satisfactory results. 



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15 



THE GLACIERS OF THE ALPS. 



Within the last few years the subject of Glaciers has 
engaged the attention of scientific men to a very 
marked degree. The principal appearances presented 
by these vast masses of ice among the Alps, as well as 
certain facts concerning their movements and the 
effects which they produce, have been long familiar to 
scientific travellers in Switzerland. But M. Agassiz 
of NeuchStel having broached a theory of a very bold 
and original kind, to account for their formation, a 
new zest has been given to the subject, and expeditions 
are now made every summer from all the countries in 
Europe to the Alps, by persons desirous of testing the 
new views by actual observation. How some of these 
tourists fare while on these expeditions, we briefly 
noticed in a recent number (747). We shall now en- 
deavour, without hazarding any opinion whatever as 
to the soundness or unsoundness of M. Agassiz's theory, 
to state the broad features of the subject so far as we 
can in a popular form. 

Saussure, one of the most successful of Alpine tra- 
vellers, gives an imaginary bird's-eye view or part of 
that range as a means of showing the nature and po- 
sition of the glaciers. He says that, if a spectator 
could be imagined at such a height as to embrace 
within his view a large group of the Alps, he would 
see a mass of mountains intersected by numerous val- 
leys, and composed of several parallel chains, the 
highest in the middle, and the others decreasing gra- 
dually as they recede. The central and highest chain 
would appear to him bristled with craggy rocks, co- 
vered throughout the year with snow and ice in all 
those places that are not absolutely vertical ; but on 
both sides of the chain he would see deep and verdant 
valleys, well watered and covered with villages. When 
he looked more in detail, he would see that the central 
range is composed of lofty peaks and smaller chains, 
covered with snow on their tops, but having all their 
slopes that are not very much inclined covered with 
ice, while the intervals between them form elevated 
valleys filled with immense masses of ice, extending 
down into the deep and inhabited valleys which bor- 
der on the great chain. The chain nearest to the centre 
would present to the observer similar appearances, but 
on a more limited scale, beyond which he would see 
very little more snow or ice. 

The masses of ice here alluded to are the glaciers. 
They occupy two different positions: in one case they 
are on the sloping sides of lofty mountains ; and in the 
other they occupy the depressions of elevated valleys. 
Of these glaciers there have been reckoned about four 
hundred between Mont Blanc and the Tyrol ; and they 
vary in size from three to fifteen miles in length, from 
one to three miles in breadth, and from one hundred 
to six hundred feet in depth or thickness. The surface 
of these glaciers is very unequal. Sometimes, when 
the ground on which they lie is but slightly inclined, 
the surface of the glaciers, though rough and granu- 
lated, is tolerably even, presenting but few crevices ; 
but if the bed be inclined so much as thirty or forty 
degrees, the ice breaks into fragments, and these frag- 
ments get displaced and heaped together in the most 
fantastic form, having among and between them 
chasms of a hundred feet or more in depth. In some 
instances the surface of the glacier is purely white ; 
but this only occurs in the upper valleys, where few 
rocky fragments can fall into it. In the lower valleys, 
and on the gently sloping sides of mountains, the gla- 
cier is generally covered With large blocks of stone, or 
with mud and sand resulting from the abrasion of those 
blocks. The overlying stones give rise to very fan- 
tastic appearances. 

During all parts of the year in a greater or less de- 



gree, but especially in summer, there are torrent?? of 
water flowing out from beneath the glaciers, occasioned 
by the partial melting of the ice, either by solar heat 
or by the internal heat of the earth. These streams 
give origin to the Rhine, the Rhone, the Danube, the 
Po, and many other important rivers ; and in their 
progress through the body of the ice, they scoop out 
large and lofty caverns, which often present very re- 
markable and picturesque appearances. - 

The glaciers descend slowly a little every year, vary- 
ing in distance according to the declivity of the ground 
and the warmth of the season. The ice appears to ad- 
here pretty closely to the sides and bottoms of the val- 
leys during winter ; but when the warmth of summer 
heats the soil all around, and thaws the ice at its sur- 
face and edges, the liberation of the glacier ensues, 
aided by the action of the currents flowing beneath, 
and by the friction of masses of ice and of stone. It 
often happens that the vast field of ice slips down very 
slowly till it comes quite close to the green cultivated 
patches of ground attached to the cottages of the pea- 
sants. In the valley of Chamouni, Ebel found that the 
glaciers advance about fourteen feet in a year ; in that of 
Grindelwald the glaciers move rather faster, being at 
the rate of twenty-five feet in the year. Besides this 
descent, it is found that the glaciers are subject to other 
minute changes. If the glaciers are observed for a 
few years in succession, it is found that they recede 
occasionally in position, so as to keep a kind of balance 
in position for a long period. 

One of the most remarkable points connected with 
the glaciers is the existence of ranges of stones in cer- 
tain definite positions with respect to their length. Along 
the edges of some of the glaciers, where they spring 
from or adjoin the rocky soil, are masses of stones ac- 
cumulated in the form of long parapets, walls, or 
dykes, to which the name of moraines is applied. Some 
glaciers have a moraine on each side, some have a mo- 
raine on one side only, while others are without them. 
These moraines sometimes attain a height of more than 
a hundred feet. Not only in the glaciers themselves, 
but in various other parts of the high mountain-valleys 
these moraines, or vast walls of loose stones, are found. 
Besides the moraines at the margins, there are long 
and high ridges formed of fragments of rocks, boulders, 
sand, and earth, on the middle of the glaciers, and 
at a considerable distance from the margins, but 
parallel to them. In some cases these ridges are 
thirty or forty feet in height, and several of them oc- 
cur on one glacier. 

These being some of the chief features presented by 
the Alpine glaciers, we may now notice the customary 
mode of explaining them, previous to the publication 
of M. Agassiz's opinions. 

On many of the Alpine elevations snow falls for the 
greater part of the year. This snow accumulates in 
immense masses, which are precipitated in the form 
of avalanches from the ridges into the upper valleys. 
By spring-time these masses have become heaped up 
into an enormous aggregate ; and during the summer 
the heat of the sun melts a good deal of the snow, 
and produces streams and torrents which form the 
sources of considerable rivers ; but as the mass is more 
than can become wholly melted, the remainder is 
frozen into the icy field which we call a glacier. The 
nature of this ice is very different from that of the 
compact and transparent ice of ponds and lakes ; for 
the rains which occasionally fall, and the water result- 
ing from the partial melting of the snow during the 
summer, percolate the mass, and, while confined par- 
tially within it, become frozen in the ensuing winter. 
The water, in filtering through the mass, being unable 
to expel all the air lodged in the interstices, this air. 
together with that which is freed during the subsequent 



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congelation, collects into bubbles of various forms and 
sizes, and destroys the transparency and cobesiveness 
of the ice. 

The descent of the glaciers has been thus explained : 
— During the winter, when the half-snowy, half-icy 

?jlacier becomes hardened and fixed to the ground, 
resh accumulations of snow are formed at its upper 
extremity, derived from all the mountain- peaks in the 
vicinity ; and this mass, which increases enormously 
by the spring, pressing on the upper part of the 
glacier, forces it irresistibly downwards into the val- 
leys. Sometimes this descent, though slow, is so 
forcible, that the glacier has been carried not only into 
a valley, but quite across it, and has even ascended 
some distance on the opposite side. 

The formation of the moraine* is thus explained : — 
When the rocks bordering the glaciers are themselves 
bare of snow or ice, in consequence of the rapidity of 
the slope, and are stratified, they are easily disin- 
tegrated by the alternate action of wet and frost, heat 
and cold, and the fragments thus detached roll down 
to the side edges of the glacier, where the greater part 
are stopped, while some isolated blocks are urged 
further towards the middle. The general inclination 
of the glacier and its downward motion are the means 
of collecting a quantity of these fragments at the 
lower edge of the glacier, so that in some cases the 
whole glacier is surrounded by a moraine. The 
parallel ridges of stones on the glacier itself have been 
accounted for thus: — The glacier, slipping down gra- 
dually upon the inclined bed of the valley, recedes from 
the sides, carrying part of the lateral moraine along 
with and upon it. This retreat always leaves a con- 
siderable space, particularly in the wider valleys, be- 
tween the foot of the mountains and the edge of the 
glaciers, which space during the succeeding winter 
becomes filled up with fresh snow, which becomes 
again converted into ice, and on which a new moraine 
is collected. This recedes like the first, and so on, 
whereby the surface of the glacier becomes covered 
with parallel ridges of stones. 

M . Agassiz, as a means of explaining these and a 
great many other phenomena observable in mountain 
valleys, directs attention back to a remote period when, 
as he supposes, a large part of what is now Europe 
was one sheet of ice ; and he then conjectures that the 
present Alpine glaciers are merely the remains of 
that ice. In many parts of Europe there are rocks 
exhibiting singular furrows in tneir surfaces in a 
►araliel direction, and other rocks whose surfaces have 
een polished by some kind of friction. No circum- 
stances at present observable seem to afford an ex- 
planation of these effects, and therefore some writers 
nave referred them to some sort of current acting at a 
former period ; but M. Agassiz thinks that, whether 
occurring in the Alps, in France, in Scotland, or in 
Sweden 7for they have been observed in all these 
places), these furrows and abrasions have been occa- 
sioned by the movement of ice at some remote 
period. 

M. Agassiz assumes, as the basis of his views, that 
at one time the polar ice extended as far towards the 
equator in the north as it now does in the south hemi- 
sphere ; and thinks that all the effects connected with 
glaciers, &c. may be deduced from such a state of 
things. There is a belt of stones running across the 
centre of Russia at about 50° lat. ; and many persons 
have supposed that these must have been brought there 
by a current or flood of some kind from the north. 
But M . Agassiz thinks they once marked the southern 
margin of an immense glacier or sea of ice, extending 
thence northward. There is another belt of stones 
farther north ; and these, he thinks, formed the glacier- 
limit at a later period, when the hemisphere was be- 



b( 



coming warmer and the ice receding' farther towards 
the pole. 

In Switzerland, at a height of nine thousand feet 
among the Alps, there is a kind of boundary or limit, 
below which there are repeated instances of moraines 
or ridges of loose stones, grooved and scratched rocks, 
and polished rocks ; whereas above this boundary the 
peaks do not exhibit these appearances. M. Agassiz 
nence concludes that this height marked the upper 
level of the ocean of ice which once filled all the val- 
leys of the Alps, and that this ice, having upon it, and 
beside it, and beneath it, fragments of rock, and melt- 
ing as the hemisphere became warmer, furrowed, 
scratched, and polished the surfaces of the rocks which 
it met with in the descent, the ice itself sometimes 
producing the mechanical effect, and at other times 
the stones which it bore along with it. According to 
the nature of the rock which composed the valley and 
the flanks of the mountain, so would it be acted on 
more or less by this kind of friction. 

There are immense blocks of stone on and among 
the Jura mountains of Savoy, placed at such an eleva- 
tion as has puzzled geologists to explain how they got 
there. M. Agassiz assumes that when the whole 
Alpine district, except the higher peaks, was enveloped 
in ice, fragments of rock became broken off fiom 
these peaks, and falling upon the ice, were by it trans- 
ported, in proportion as it melted or gave way, to con- 
siderable distances, where they obtained lodgment on 
solid ground in various positions. There are in Scot- 
land some curious parallel terraces on either side of 
two or three glens near the Caledonian Canal, the 
terraces being strictly on a level, and following the 
windings of the glen with great uniformity. These 
terraces have obtained the name of toe " parallel roads 
of Glenroy." Some have thought that in early times 
these were roads artificially formed ; in later times it 
has been supposed that they are the sedimentary de- 
posits on the bankB of what were once lakes; but the 
" glacial theory" of M. Agassiz has recently been 
brought to bear upon them, and it is supposed that 
these valleys were once filled with ice, the parallel 
roads being consequences of the descent of the glaciers 
at a later period, when the ice was about to dis- 
appear. 

To follow out the details of this remarkable theory 
is not our object : but as the "glacial theory" is now 
becoming a matter of prominent interest in scientific 
works, and as men of science have to a certain extent 
divided themselves into *glacia)ists* and 'non-gla- 
cialisU,' according as they do or do not a^ree in 
opinion with M. Agassiz, we have thought it right to 
(give a slight idea of what the term means, and what 
is the subject under consideration. Jt will be con- 
venient, then, for those who may meet with discus- 
sions on the subject, to bear in mind thst the "glacial 
theory" supposes a time to have existed when many of 
the countries of Europe were enveloped in ice nearly 
to the tops of the highest mountains; that this ice 
melted as the northern hemisphere gradually became 
warmer ; that fragments of rock became transported 
by the ice to great distances; that the ice and the 
fragments furrowed, scratched, or smoothed the rocks 
over which they passed ; that all the lower valleys and 
plains have become so warm that the ice has dis- 
appeared from them ; that the higher valleys and the 
sides of mountains in the Alps still exhibit remnants 
of this ice in the form of glaciers ; and that the 
boulders and other masses of stone observable in par- 
ticular situations have been'brought thither while ice 
was yet in or near those parts. 



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[Greenstcd Church.] 



CHURCH AT GREENSTED, ESSEX. 

[Prom a Correspondent.] 

Grbensted is a little secluded village about a mile 
from Ongar and twenty from London. Consisting 
of a few scattered farm-houses and cottages, and 
without a public-house of any kind, it would not be 
easy perhaps to find a quieter spot within the same 
distance ; nor, in its way, a pleasanter. Lying out of 
the main road, however, neither its pretty green lanes 
nor its old church appear sufficiently attractive to in- 
duce the visits of many strangers. Yet its church is a 
remarkable structure. It is held by many to be a 
genuine Anglo-Saxon wooden building; at least its 
nave is so held. Of late, it is the fashion to call such 
buildings Norman. Greensted Church is, however, 
associated with an occurrence very characteristic of 
the Anglo-Saxon period, and we shall therefore con- 
sider it Anglo-Saxon. 

It will be remembered that in one of the early in- 
cursions of the Danes into England (a.d. 870), Ed- 
mund, king of East Anglia, was taken prisoner by 
them, and, refusing to abjure the Christian religion, 
put to a cruel death. He was a favourite of the people, 
but especially of the priests ; and came naturally there- 
fore to be spoken of as a martyr, and his remains to be 
held in estimation as those of a saint. In the reign of 
Ethelred the Unready, the Danes, emboldened by the 
cowardice or feeble policy of the king, who only sought 
to buy them off from day to day, and made tyrannous 
by the diminished opposition everywhere offered to 
them, ravaged the country in all directions, until at 
length, in the year 1010, " that dismal period," as Mr. 
Sharon Turner calls it, " their triumph was completed 
in the surrender of sixteen counties of England and 
the payment of 48,000/." In this year the bones of 
St. Edmund were removed from Aiiwin to London, to 
prevent their falling into the hands of the Danes.* 
They appear to have remained in London about three 
years, when they were carried back to Bedriceworth 
(Bury St. Edmund's). A MS. cited by Dugdale in 
the « Monasticon/ and entitled ' Registrum ccenobii S. 
Edmundi* informs us that on its return to Bury, " his 
body was lodged (hospitabatur) at Aungre, where a 
wooden chapel remains as a memorial to this day." It 

* The following particulars, with the admeasurement of the 
church, are mostly taken from a description contributed to the 
Society of Antiquaries by S. Letheuillier, Esq., and published 
. in their « Vetusta Monument,!,' 1 747. 

no. 757. 



is this same " wooden chapel " which is supposed to 
form the nave of Greensted Church. The inhabitants 
of the village have always had a tradition that the 
cornse of a king rested in it, and the appearance of the 
building vouches for its great antiquity. 

Greensted adjoins Ongar ; and that the ancient road 
from London into Suffolk ran through Old Ford, 
Abridge, Stapleford, Greensted, Dunmow, and Clare, 
is evident as well from the remains of it that are still 
visible, as from tradition. Stanford Rivers, the parish 
adjoining Greensted on the London side, is thought to 
be so named from the stone ford which was there 
made across the Roden for the convenience of the 
traffic along that road. We are told by the register 
above mentioned that the wooden chapel remained 
afterwards in memory of that transaction ; so that it 
might in process of time, with proper additions made 
to it, be converted into a parish church. And of the 
antiquity of Greensted as a parish there is plenty of 
evidence; thus we find by Newcourt that Simon 
Fcverell succeeded John Lodet as rector of Grinsted 
juxta Ongar in 1328. He says likewise that Richard 
de Lucy very properly divided the parishes of Grinsted 
and Ongar, and built the church at Ongar, in the reign 
of Henry II. But it has never, we believe, been 
questioned, says Mr. Letheuillier, that the nave of 
the present church is the identical wooden building 
erected as a shrine for Edmund's corpse just eight 
hundred and thirty years ago. 

The building is as simple in its construction as we 
might expect from the object for which it was erected 
— a rural chapelry in a large parish. It is formed of 
the trunkB of oaks about a toot and a half in diameter, 
split in half and roughly hewn at each end, to let them 
into a sill at the bottom, and into a plank at the top, 
where they are fastened with wooden pegs. This is 
the whole of the original fabric which yet remains 
entire, though much corroded and worn by time and 
long exposure to the weather. It is twenty-nine feet 
nino inches long by fourteen feet wide, and five feet 
six inches high on the sides which supported the 
primitive roof. The oaken trunks are arranged as 
closely side by side as their irregular edges will per- 
mit. On the south side there are sixteen of them, and 
iwo doorposts, with an opening for the entrance ; on 
the north side there are twenty-one, and two vacancies 
filled up with plaster. The ends were similar, but the 
eastern has been removed and the church enlarged by 
the addition of a brick chancel ; the western end re- 

Vol. X1II.-D 

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[January 20, 



mains, but is hidden by a wooden tower that has been 
erected against it. On the south side there is a 
wooden porch, and both sides have been strengthened 
by brick buttresses. 

The old wood appears little more decayed now than 
when Mr. Letheuillier described it, nearly a century 
since, as much corroded and worn by time. It is so 
blackened with age that it is not easy to tell what kind 
of wood it really is. Mr. Letheuillier, as we have seen, 
says it is oak, and his account is generally received ; 
we have heard very good judges affirm it to be chest- 
nut , but, although we examined it closely, we were 
unable to decide the point without cutting the wood, 
and that we were unwilling to do. The brick chan- 
cel which has been added to its cast end appears 
younger than the nave ; it probably, judging from the 
carved mouldings of the blunt-pointed arch of the 
doorway,* belongs to the later Norman period. Alto- 
gether, the church, though rudely venerable in ap- 
pearance, has so substantial a look as almost to promise, 
if carefully attended to, to last another eight cen- 
turies. 

We know of few churches near London more de- 
serving of a visit ; few that have such strong claims in 
themselves ; and none that have been so little injured 
by modern improvements, or so little defaced by recent 
embellishments. And, like all old churches and few 
new, it seems to accord most felicitously- with the spot 
on which it is placed. There is nothing about the 
church or the scene to weaken the strong feeling sure 
to be excited by the sight of so remarkable a relic of a 
remarkable period. Nor need the imaginative visitor 
fear that his ruminations will be interrupted by inqui- 
sitive intruders or troublesome guides. He may let 
his memory recal, or his fancy picture, the uncouth 
pageant of that day, when our Saxon ancestors in their 
quaint costumes crowded from every adjacent hamlet 
to gaze upon the reliaucs of their king, martyr, and 
saint ; and nought will disturb the vision or break the 
deep silence, unless it be the song of the lark or the 
call of the thrush, or the distant sound cf a flail. 

The scenery too about Greensted is much pleasanter 
than Essex scenery is usually considered. Stanford 
Rivers and Navestock on one side, with Ongar on the 
other, offer some walks of much beauty, and there are 
green lanes all about the neighbourhood, such as it is 
a delight to meet with. 

Our engraving is from an original sketch, and re- 
presents the present appearance of the church. 

THE FLOODS AND AVALANCHES OF THE 
ALPS. 

The sudden inundations of snow, or of ice, and of 
water, to which the Swiss villages are liable from the 
neighbouring mountains, are so intimately connected 
with the formation and the movement of glaciers, that 
they cannot be understood without reference thereto ; 
and we will therefore refer to our recent paper on the 
nature of glaciers (No. 756) as a means of illustrating 
the details contained in the present article. 

It was stated in the former paper that the Alpine 
glaciers occupy either the higher valleys or else the 
sloping sides of the loftier mountains; and that their 
gradual descent — be its cause what it may — frequently 
brings them down into the greater or lower valleys, 
even so far as to urge them part of the way up the 
opposite slope. The manner in which this slow move- 
ment of glaciers may give rise to catastrophes, we shall 
presently explain ; but we may first notice the ava- 
lanches, or falls of snow, to which the valleys are ex- 
posed. 

* In the plate in the ' Vctusta ' this is inaccurately represented 
as a round arch. 



During many months of the year, snow is almost con- 
stantly falling in the higher regions of the Alps; and 
by degrees the accumulation becomes so great that 
the inclined sides of the mountains are not able to re- 
tain it ; it becomes urged onwards by its own weight, 
and precipitated into the underlying valley, burying 
forests, villages, cattle, and, too often, human beings 
beneath it There are different kinds of avalanches or 
snow-falls according to the season of the year. The 
drift avalanche, occurring in the early part of win- 
ter, results from a heavy snow-storm falling during a 
calm, and afterwards acted on by the wind. The 
snow is driven from one acclivity to another, in- 
creasing its size as it proceeds, and at length the whole 
body falls into the valley below ; but as the snow is in 
a light or drift state, it does not produce so much mis- 
chief as the rolling avalanche, which occurs towards 
the end of winter. When the immense mass of winter- 
snow becomes slightly thawed in the spring, the par- 
tially melted surface acquires a damp or clammy state, 
which makes the whole cohere into a more compact 
mass than the snow previously presented. The snow 
aggregates into balls or masses, which enlarge by con- 
stant additions as they descend ; and at length it ac- 
quires such an enormous bulk and such a great velocity 
of movement, that it bears down everything before it, 
and either crushes or overturns trees, houses, and rocks. 
In 1749 a whole village was covered by one avalanche, 
and even removed from its site, and all with perfect 
stillness so far as the movement of the snow was con- 
cerned : a hundred persons were afterwards dug out 
of the snow, of whom about half stfll survived. Nu- 
merous other cases have been recorded of entire vil- 
lages being overwhelmed ; and there is a well-known 
narrative of a family who existed for a very long period 
enveloped in the snow of an avalanche. 

Another kind of avalanche, known by the distinctive 
name of the sliding, occurs in the spring. When the 
surface-snow has been thawed on tne lower and less 
steep declivities, the layers of snow nearest the ground 
become saturated with water, and thus the whole be- 
comes loosened, giving rise to a gradual sliding move- 
ment, which brings the mass to the bottom, but without 
working so much mischief as the rolling masses. The 
ice avalanche is simply the falling of fragments of ice 
from the lower ends of the glaciers, loosened by the 
summer heat. 

The manner in which a flood of water, called in the 
Alpine districts a debacle, may be occasioned by a 
glacier, will next claim our notice. 

If there be a narrow gorge between two mountains, 
and descending to a lower valley beneath, it frequently 
happens that a glacier occupies this gorge, and de- 
scends by degrees till it completely crosses the lower 
valley. If, further, there be a river flowing through 
this lower valley, the glacier may so completely stop 
its path as to form a dam, behind which the waters of 
the river will rise and form into a lake. This was pre- 
cisely the circumstance which occurred in Switzerland 
in 1818, when a fearful consequence followed. The 
details have been given by M. Eshcr de la Linth, in 
the ' Philosophical Journal, and in one of the sketches 
by Captain Basil Hall, who visited the spot imme- 
diately after the catastrophe. From these two sources 
we will transcribe the chief details. 

The Val de Bagnes, near Martigny, is a steep, 
narrow, rugged valley or rocky glen, running for about 
thirty or forty miles in an east and west direction 
among the mountains which separate Switzerland from 
Piedmont. The mountains have numerous glaciers 
in their gorges or upper valleys, and at one spot a 
glacier was so circumstanced as to protrude into the 
valley beneath. This valley has flowing alonjr. its 
bottom the river Dranse, a tributary to the Rhone, 



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some distance above the junction of the latter with the 
Lake of Geneva. The banks of this river are in most 
places precipitous ; but wherever there is a little spot 
at all capable of being cultivated, there the hardy and 
industrious Switzer establishes himself, and builds one 
of the pretty cottages which have become such fa- 
vourites among our painters and tourists ; so that oc- 
casionally along the banks of the river there are little 
#reen patches to relieve the otherwise rugged scene. 
To connect these spots together, slender and rude 
bridges are thrown across the glen, which has the river 
flowing beneath, and thus the mountaineers connect 
themselves into something like a social community. 

At a short distance from the upper end of this valley 
is the spot where the glacier intrudes its icy foot into 
the channel where the river flows. The glacier itself 
has not taken up this position, but blocks of ice and 
masses of snow, derivecf from it, have been precipitated 
from time to time, so that the stream has been for a 
long period more or less impeded. So long back as 
the year 1595 the valley was completely shut up by the 
descent of immense masses of ice. The water rose to 
an enormous height behind this barrier; and on the 
evening of Sunday, the 4th of June, in that year, the 
icy barrier having become weakened both by the 
pressure of the water and the heat of the sun, it gave 
May. The accumulated waters at once descended the 
valley with irresistible fury, carrying along with them 
masses of rock of enormous magnitude, tearing up 
everything that obstructed their progress, desolating 
the plains and valleys, and destroying the whole town 
of Martigny. Many of the inhabitants lost their lives, 
and the rest were reduced to the most abject poverty. 

After this sad event the ice and snow continued to 
fall into the valley at this spot from the glacier above, 
as before ; and at length they accumulated to such a 
mass as to resist the heat of the sun in summer, so that 
a further accumulation took place. The glacier itself, 
too, continued to travel downwards, so that by the year 
1818 the bed of the stream was blocked up by a conical 
ma«s of ice and snow more than a hundred feet in 
height. For some time the river contrived to find its 
way under or through the crevices in this barrier ; 
but at length, owing to fresh portions of mingled ice- 
rocks and snow being cast down from the sides of the 
glacier, the various channels or tunnels which the river 
had excavated became choked up. As soon as this 
took place, the waters, having no outlet, began to form 
a lake, which gradually increased to half a league in 
length, about seven hundred feet broad at the top, one 
hundred at the bottom, average depth two hundred 
feet, and was estimated to contain eight hundred mil- 
lions cubic feet of water. 

Such was the state of things in April, 1818, and it is 
supposed that no harm would have resulted had the 
barrier been formed of rocky materials ; for in that 
case, as soon as the water in the lake bad risen to the 
top of the barrier it would have flowed over the edge, 
and merely formed a cascade. But as the barrier was 
formed of ice and snow principally, its permanence 
could not be so justly looked for ; and the experienced 
Swiss, fully awakened to their danger, saw that, unless 
they adopted some very prompt and energetic mea- 
sures, the weight of the accumulated waters would 
soon become too great for the weight of the dam of 
ice, and the whole reservoir would at once be dashed 
down the ravine, to the destruction of all the villages, 
fields, bridges, and mills, which, although built on suf- 
ficiently elevated spots to escape common overflows, 
would oe swept away by such a one as this. 

Under these circumstances, a bold and enterprising 
engineer of Martigny, M. Venetz, set about devising a 
plan which, though it could not prevent the evil, 
might possibiy lessen it. He conceived that the water 



might be prevented from using above a certain level 
in the lake, if a gallery or tunnel could be cut through 
the barrier of ice at such a height above the level of 
the lake at that time as would enable the work to be 
finished before the water should riBe to that point. 
This required not only a very nice calculation, but a 
great degree of vigour and activity in the execution. 
The drift or gallery which M. Venetz proposed to bore 
through the barrier was made to slope downwards, in 
such a way that when the water rose to its upper end 
it should flow so rapidly through that it might act like 
a Eaw, and, by cutting down the ice, permit the water 
from the lake gradually to descend, till it was nearly 
emptied, and the mass of water be prevented from be- 
coming an overmatch for the retaining wall of ice and 
snow. 

These bold and ingenious operations were begun on 
the 10th of May and finished on the 13th of June. 
The gallery was sixty-eight feet long (being the thick- 
ness of the barrier at the spot chosen for the perfora- 
tion), and during its formation the workmen were ex- 
posed to the constant risk of being crushed to piece* 
by the falling blocks of ice, or of being buried under 
the glacier itself. In the mean time the surface of the 
lake had risen sixty-two feet, but as it had not yet 
reached the upper orifice of the gallery, M. Venetz, 
having secured a thorough opening through the barrier, 
set to work to cut down the floor of the tunnel till it 
met the rising waters, which then began to flow rapidly 
through the passage. The floor of the gallery went on 
wearing away, as had been anticipated, so fast that by 
the next day the lake had diminished in depth one 
foot ; and this evidence of the power of the engineer 
began to inspire hope in the terrified inhabitants. On 
the following day the lake had subsided ten feet ; and 
on the 16th, or only three days after the water had v be- 
gun to flow through the tunnel, it had sunk forty -five 
feet. But there was soon to be an end to the hopeful 
anticipation. 

As soon as the water flowed from the lower end of 
the gallery the velocity of the cascade melted the ice, 
and thus wore away the gallery at its mouth. The 
water which had penetrated the crevices of the glacier 
caused enormous fragments of ice to fall from the 
lower side of it, so that owing to these causes the body 
of the glacier, which formed the retaining wall of the 
lake, was so much diminished in thickness, that the 
floor of the gallery was reduced from six hundred feet 
to eight feet in length. As soon as the cascade had 
cut through the cone of ice, it attacked the shore of the 
neighbouring mountain, and undermined the glacier 
by washing away the loose materials forming the bed 
of the stream on which this mass of ice had been piled 
up; and having carried it off by degrees, the water 
next forced an opening between the glacier and the 
foot of the mountain. As soon as this happened the 
water rushed out, the ice gave way with a tremendous 
crash, the lake emptied itself in half an hour, and the 
sea of water which it contained was precipitated into 
the valley with a rapidity and violence truly terrible. 
The fury of this raging flood was first stayed by a 
narrow gorge, over which a bridge was thrown at a 
height of ninety feet. But it soon carried away the 
bridge, and spread itself over a wider part of the 
valley, then through another gorge, agjain through a 
wider part of the valley, and so on, till it reached the 
Rhdne at Martigny, carrying away with it forests, 
rocks, houses, barns, and cultivated lands. 

Captain Basil Hall arrived at Martigny seven weeks 
after the catastrophe, and thus speaks ot what met his 
view, even in that place, where the fury of the flood 
had nearly spent itself: — "Many of the houses had 
been swept away, and all the remaining habitations 
gave token of having been invaded by the flood, which 

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even at the lower extremity of the town, where the 
valley is widest, had risen to the height of ten feet. 
All the hedges, garden walls, and other boundary-lines 
and landmarks of every description, were of course 
obliterated under one uniform mass of detritus, which 
had levelled all distinctions in a truly sweeping and 
democratic confusion. In every house, without ex- 
ception, there lay a stratum of alluvial matter several 
feet in thickness, so deposited that passages had to be 
cut through it along the streets, as we see roads cut in 
the snow after a storm. On that side of every build- 
ing which faced up the valley, and consequently 
against which the stream was directed, there had been 
collected a pile of large stones under all, then a layer 
of trees, with their tattered branches lying one way, 
and their roots the other ; next came a net-work of 
timber-beams of houses, broken doors, fragments of 
inill-wheels, shafts of carts, handles of ploughs, and all 
the wreck and ruin of the numerous villages which 
the debacle had first torn to pieces and then swept 
down the valley in one undistinguishable mass. The 
lower part of the bark had been completely stripped 
off all the trees still standing, each one being charged 
on the side next the torrent with a singular accumula- 
tion of rubbish, consisting chiefly of uprooted trees and 
those wooden portions of the buildings which were 
bolted together. I ought to mention also, that from 
every house, and behind every tree, circumstanced as 
I have described, there extended down the valley a 
long tail or train of diluvial rubbish, deposited in the 
swell, or, as a sailor would say, in the eddy, under the 
lee of these obstacles. All over the plain large 
boulders, or erratic blocks, lay thickly strewed." 



Population of the United State* to the Square Mile.— In 1790, 
Rhode Island, the most densely peopled state, bad 51*5 inha- 
bitants to a square mile. In 1900, Connecticut had the largest 
number (52*7) of inhabitants to a square mile ; in 1810, Rhode 
Island again, the proportion being 57 4 to a square mile. Since 
1820, Massachusetts has been the most populous state, in re- 
ference to its sice, the number of inhabitants to a square mile 
having been 69 in 1820, 81 in 1830, and 98 in 1840. West- 
moreland has only 74 inhabitants to a square mile, but then 
this is to be accounted for by the physical peculiarities of the 
country. No fertile English county contains so few as 100 per- 
sons to a square mile ; Lincolnshire, which is the most thinly 
populated, has 138 inhabitants to a square mile. In 1790, the 
number of inhabitants to a square mile in the whole of the states 
was 39; 53 in 1800, 7-2 in 1810, 96 in 1820, 12-8 in 1830, 
and 13*5 in 1840, while at the same time, by the admission of 
new states into the Union, the territory had been constantly ex- 
tending. With only 200 persons to each square mile (in Eng- 
land we have above 300 to a square mile), the population of this 
immense-territory would be above 251 millions! — Companion to 
the Almanac for 1844. 



Pavement of Paris. — Paris exhibits a mixture of stone, bitu- 
men, and wood pavements. The principal streets of the city 
were first paved so early as 1184, by order of the king ; but in 
many of the quarters the streets were un paved so late as 1640. 
Beckmann gives a curious account of the police regulations con- 
cerning the cleansing of the streets, from which we may infer that 
road-ways were in a very miry state ; indeed, modern Paris has 
not had high credit for the condition of its streets. Sir Henry 
Parnell, in his 'Treatise on Roads,* remarked that the best kind 
of Paris paving was thus made : — A layer of broken stones was 
first laid down ; then the old paving-stones were laid as a sub- 
pavement ; and, lastly, a new layer of dressed stones for the sur- 
face-pavement ; forming altogether a very durable road-way. 
Bitumen pavements have been laid down to a greater extent in 
Paris than in London. The great Place de la Concorde, many 
of the promenades on the Boulevards, the foot-paths of the Pont 
Royal and the Pout Carousel, one side of the Pont Neuf foot- 
way, and other public places iu Paris, have beeu paved with 
one or other of the different asphaltic bitumens. — Companion to 
Almanac. 



Tree* of Port Phillip.— In point of beauty, it must be con- 
fessed that the green-wood tree of the Australian forests, though 
often rising to a noble height, and as picturesque in its outlines 
and attitudes as any that bears a leaf, nevertheless stands far 
below any individual of our Knglish woods. Not that its limbs 
are less giant-like or less boldly thrown into the air, but there is 
wanting the rich burden of foliage which a colder climate heaps 
with such profusion on the bending branches ; and we miss the 
shade that spreads around each stem, and diffuses the grateful 
coolness we were wont to enjoy. In comparison with the 
plumage of the oak or elm, theirs is a scanty sprinkling of droop- 
ing attenuated leaves; a crop so thin-sown as to seem as if 
dwarfed in its early growth by some blight, and to have re- 
mained ever since in a state of premature decay. Moreover, to 
increase their disadvantages, the hues with which they greet the 
eye exclude every tint of a bright desctiption, a dull green 
being the prevailing shade of shruh as well as tree. This it is 
that tinges every landscape with a degree of monotony and sad- 
ness that could not fail to convey a gloomy impression, did we 
not see the prospect invariably lighted up by a brilliant sun- 
shine, and diversified by natural features of the highest beauty. — 
A Summer at Port Phillip^ by the' Hon. R. D. Murray. 



The Type of the Spaniard*. — In the character of the Iberians 
some traits may be recognised, which even to this day mark the 
Spaniard. The grave dnss, the temperance and sohriety, the 
unyielding spirit, the extreme indolence, the perseverance iu 
guerilla warfare, and the remarkable absence of the highest 
military qualities, ascribed by the Greek and Roman writers to 
the ancient Iberians, are all more or less characteristic of the 
Spaniards of modern times. The courtesy and gallantry of the 
Spaniard to womeu has also come down to him from his Iberian 
ancestors : in the eyes of the Greeks, it was an argument of an 
imperfect civilisation, that among the Iberians the bridegroom 
gave, instead of receiving, a dowry; that daughters sometimes 
inherited to the exclusion of sons, and, thus becoming the heads 
of the family, gave portions to their brothers, that they might be 
provided with suitable wives. In another point, the great dif- 
ference between the people of the south of Europe and those of 
the Teutonic stock was remarked also in Iberia: the Iberians 
were ignorant, but not simple-hearted ; on the contrary, they 
were cunning and mischievous, with habits of robbery almost 
indomitable, fond of brigandage, though incapable of the great 
combinations of war. These, in some degree, are qualities 
common to almost all barbarians; but they offer a strong con- 
trast to the character of the Germans, whoite words spoke what 
was iu their hearts, and of whose most powerful tribe it is re- 
corded, that their ascendeucy was maintained by uo other arms 
thau those of justice. — Arnold* Rome, vol. iii. 



The Orange-Grove* of Mexico. — The orange-trees were covered 
with their golden fruit and fragrant blossom : the forest-trees, 
bending over, formed a natural arch, which the suu could not 
pierce. We laid ourselves down ou the soft grass, contrasting 
this day with the preceding. The air was soft and balmy, and 
actually heavy with the fragrance of the orange-blossom ami 
starry jasmine. All around the orchard ran streams of the mast 
delicious clear waters, trickling with sweet music, and now and 
then a little cardinal, like a bright red ruby, would perch upon 
the trees. We pulled bouquets Of orange-blossom, jasmine, 
lilies, dark red roses, and lemon leaves, and wished we could 
have transported them to you, to those lands where winter is now 
wrapping the wcrld iu his white winding-sheet. The gardener 
or coffee-planter — such a gardener! — Don Juan by name, with 
an immense black beard, Mexican hat, and military sash of 
crimson silk, came to offer us some orangeade; and, having sent 
to the house for sugar and tumblers, pulled the oranges from the 
trees, and drew the water from a clear tank overshaded by blos- 
soming branches, and cold as though it had beeu iced. There 
certainly is no tree more beautiful thau the orange, with its 
golden fruit, shining green leaves, and lovely white blossom 
with so delicious a fragrance. We felt this morning as if Alta- 
camulco was an earthly paradise. . . . But when the moon rose 
serenely and without a cloud, and a soft breeze, fragrant with 
orange-blossom, blew gently over the trees, I felt as if we could 
have rode on for ever, without fatigue, and in a state of the most 
perfect enjoyment. It was hard to say whether the first soft 
breath of morning, or the languishing and yet more fragrant airs 
of eveuing, are more enchanting. — Madame Calderon de h 
Barca. 



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TOULOUSE. 



Toulouse, a city in France, was formerly the capital 
of the province of Languedoc, and is now the chief 
town of the department of Haute Garonne, 363 miles 
in a direct line south by west of Paris, or 438 miles by 
the road through Orleans, Chfttcauroux, Limoges, 
Cahors, and Montauban ; in 43° 35' N. lat. and 1° 20' 
E. long. 

The notices of this town in ancient writers are more 
numerous than of most towns in Gaul, and relate to an 
earlier period : the name was written by the Latin 
authors and in inscriptions Tolosa and Tholosa. By a 
similar variation to this last the name has been written 
in later times Toulouse and Thoulouse, but the h is 
now generally omitted. In the time of the Gauls this 
city, which belonged to thfe Volcae Tectosages, a Celtic 
nation, contained an enormous treasure in gold and 
silver, which was seized by the Romans under Ca»pio, 
B.C. 106. As the treasure had been deposited in con- 
secrated places, the seizure of it was regarded as sacri- 
lege; and the misfortunes which afterwards overtook 
the perpetrators occasioned " the gold of Toulouse " 
(" auruni Tholosanum") to become a proverbial expres- 
sion for treasure which brought ruin upon its owners. 
(Aulus Gellius, Nodes Atticae, III. ix.) Toulouse was 
afterwards subject to the Romans, the Visigoths, and 
the Franks, and in the middle ages had counts of its 
own, who were potentates of great importance in tho 
south of France. The last historical event of import- 
ance connected with it was the battle fought, 10th 
April, 1814, between the allied army under the Duke 
of Wellington, and the French under Marshal Soult. 
The English were victorious, and Soult was obliged to 
evacuate the town. 

Toulouse is situated on the right or east bank of the 
Garonne, which, flowing from the south, bends west- 
ward, forming a crescent, on the concave side of which 
the town stands. As the Canal du Midi, or Canal de 
Languedoc, which unites the Garonne with the Medi- 
terranean, opens into the river a short distance below 
the town, and has its course for some distance parallel 
to the river, the site of the town and its suburbs is a 



peninsula, enclosed between the Garonne, close to the 
town, on the west, and the canal at a little distance on 
the north and east. On the south side, but at some 
distance, are the heights of Pech-David ; and on the 
east, beyond the canal,* and between it and the lit lie 
river Lers (which flows parallel to the canal, and falls 
into the Garonne below it), are the heights of Mont 
Rave, on which the fiercest part of the battle of Tou- 
louse, in 1814, took place. 

The town and the suburb of St. Cyprien, which is on 
the opposite bank of the river, are enclosed by walls, 
erected in the middle ages, and are united by a bridge 
of seven arches, the Pont Neuf, about eight hundred 
and sixty feet long, erected under Louis XIV., from 
the designs of Souffron, which crosses the river in the 
middle of the bend. The river is lined with handsome 
quays. The walls (which have nine gates) appear to 
have been, in 1814, tolerably entire, and " so thick as 
to admit sixteen and twenty-four pounder guns ;" but 
later authorities describe them as gradually disappear- 
ing in the progress of improvement. Besides St. 
Cyprien, there are several faubourgs, or suburbs : 
Bazacle, on the north-west, close to the river; Arnaud- 
Bernard, on the north ; Matabiau, on the north-east ; 
St. Etienne and Guill6merie, on the east ; and St. 
Michel, on the souths the faubourgs Arnaud-Bernard, 
Matabiau, and St. Etienne extend to the Canal du Midi ; 
and GuiU£m6rie lies beyond the canal, adjacent to St. 
Etienne. On the south-east side of the town, between 
St. Etienne and St. Michel, is the Esplanade, a circular 
space surrounded by trees, planted so as to form four 
concentric circles, and having six avenues radiating 
from it, each with four rows of trees, forming three 
alleys. The streets of the town itself were, till of late 
years, narrow and crooked ; the squares irregular in 
form, the houses built of brick, and few of the edifices 
of a handsome ■ appearance ; but improvement has 
latterly been very rapid. The town is still, however, 
as it were in a state of transition : " its streets, com- 
monly narrow and crooked, become still more irregu- 
lar, as, in taking care to give them a better direction, 
old houses are replaced by others arranged upon a 
new line; so that, with some exceptions, the streets 

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present only houses, some protruding and some reced- 
ing/' (Malte-Brun.) They are paved with round stones, 
very fatiguing for foot passengers. The old houses 
are generally covered with stucco. " The squares are 
still unfinished, but they show what they will be when 
completed" (Ibid.): the Place Royale, Place St. 
George, and Place Angouleme are the handsomest. 
Ten or more fountains, and a hundred " bornes fon- 
taines," or fountains issuing from walls, serve to cleanse 
and refresh the streets. Many of these fountains owe 
their erection to M. Montbel, formerly mayor of the 
city, and afterwards one of the ministers who signed 
the unlucky * ordonnance3 ' of Charles X. : especially 
he erected one of white marble in the Place Royale, 
adorned with bas-reliefs of events in the Spanish cam- 
paign of 1823. 

The principal public buildings are the cathedral, the 
capitol or Hotel de Ville, the ex-archiepiscopal palace, 
and the church of the Grands Augustins, now occupied 
as a museum. The nave and portal of the cathedral 
are more ancient than the choir, and are described by 
Malte-Brun as belonging to •• an old heavy Gothic 
church :*' the choir, erected in the sixteenth century 
as part of a new edifice designed to replace the older 
one, but which has never been finished, is described 
by the same author as one of the most beautiful in 
France. In receiving the judgment of Malte-Brun, 
regard must be had to the difference of architectural 
taste in England aud France. The choir is not ,in a 
line with the nave, so that the whole structure has a 
very irregujar figure, somewhat like this. In the 
tower of the cathedral is " the bell of Car- 
daillac," weighing 50,000 lbs. French. 
I The town-hall or capitol is almost entirely 
1 NaT *- 1 a modern building, erected on the site of 
a more ancient one. It has a front of 
about 380 feet long by 128 high, and is of most im- 
posing appearance. The court is shown in which the 
Duke of Montmorency is said to have been beheaded, 
a.d. 1632, and which must therefore be a remain of 
the older building. A gallery termed " Galerie des 
Illustres " is set apart for busts of those persons, natives 
of the city or connected with it, whom the town has 
thought worthy of the honour of a place. The ex- 
palace of the archbishop, uow occupied by the prefect 
of the department, is the handsomest modern building 
after the capitol. The museum in the cloister and 
church of the Grands Augustins contains a number of 
antiquities which have been collected in the depart- 
ment. Besides these edifices may be noticed the 
theatre ; the new court-houses for the Cour Royale and 
the tribunal de premiere instance ; the veterinary 
school ; the churcli of La Dorade, built on the site of 
an ancient heathen temple, and that of St. Saturnin, 
the interior of which is very impressive ; the vast hos- 
pitals of the Hotel Dieu and St. Joseph-de-la-Grave ; 
the mill of Bazacle; the abattoirs ; and the bridge and 
baa-relief at the junction of the Canal du Midi and the 
Canal de Briennc. This latter canal, which is very 
short, connects the Garonne at the mill of Bazacle, 
adjacent to the town wall, with the Canal du Midi. 
In the He de Tonnis, a small island in the Garonne 
opposite the town, and indeed forming part of it (for 
the island is covered with buildings), are the ruins of 
the Castle of Narbonnais, the former residents of the 
counts of Toulouse. Toulouse has scarcely any remains 
of Roman buildings. There are a large public garden ; 
a botanic garden, rich especially in plants from the 
Pyrenees and in exotics, where courses of instruction 
in botany are given ; and a public walk, ' Coins Dillon,' 
in the Faubourg St. Cyprien, on the bank of the Ga- 
ronne. 

The population of the commune of Toulouse in 1826 
was 55,319; in 1831, 59,030; and in 1836,77,372. 



There arc bell-foundries and copper-mills ; a very large 
manufactory of sickles, files, and other hardwares; 
and a number of establishments lor different branches 
of the iron-manufacture; printing-offices, oil-mills, 
brandy distilleries, breweries, dye-houses, tan-yards, 
rope-walks, flour- mills ; manufactories of wax, wax- 
candles, paper-hangings, oil-cloth, musical strings, 
morocco leather, cotton and woollen yam, blankets, 
cotton counterpanes, printed cottons, hats, straw-hats, 
earthenware, porcelain ; and a government stuff-manu- 
factory. Trade is carried on with Spain, with the ports 
of Bordeaux and Marseille, and with the interior : the 
Spanish trade is the most important. The chief export 
is of wheat and flour, the produce of the surrounding 
country, which was eminent for its productiveness in 
corn as early as in the time of Caesar. Toulouse is 
celebrated also for its ducks'-liver pies, of which a 
great number are sent to other parts of France. 
There are two great markets in the year for flowers 
and salt pork ; and eight fairs, including four of eight 
days each and two of three days: one of the eight-day 
fairs is an important fair for wool and woollen cloth. 

Toulouse is the chief town of the department ; it is 
the seat of a Cour Royale, whose jurisdiction compre- 
hends the departments of Arrifige, Haute Garonne, 
Tarn, and Tarn et Garonne, and of an Academic Uni- 
versitaire, which has authority over the same depart- 
ments : it is the head-quarters of the tenth military 
division, comprehending the departments of Audc, 
Pyrenees Orientales, Arrtege, Haute Garonne, Hautes 
Pyrenees, Gers, and Tarn et Garonne. It has an assize 
court, a chamber of commerce, a tribunal of commerce, 
a tribunal de premiere instance, or subordinate court 
of justice, a mint, and several fiscal government 
offices. There are a royal cannon foundry, an arsenal, 
and an artillery school. 

The archbishopric of Toulouse originated as a bi- 
shopric in the third century : St. Saturninus, the first 
bishop, is said to have suffered martyrdom, a.d. 250 : 
it did not attain to its metropolitan rank till the four- 
teenth century. It is now united with the archbishop- 
ric of Narbonne, to which its bishops were anciently 
suffragans : the style of the prelate is Archbishop of 
Toulouse and Narbonne. The diocese includes the 
department of Haute Garonne, and the archbishop's 
suffragans are the bishops of Montauban, Pamiers, and 
Carcassone. 

Toulouse is distinguished by the attention of the 
townsmen to literature. It possesses a number of esta- 
blishments for public instruction : its schools include 
two thousand students, and there are several learned 
societies which distribute prizes. The most eminent 
of these is the Acaddmie des Jeux Floraux, which dis- 
tributes prizes for the best poems: the prizes, which 
are golden flowers, are open to the competition of all 
France. This society originated in the middle ages, 
probably in or before the thirteenth century, certainly 
not later than the fourteenth, and appears to have been 
an association of trouvdres, or troubadours. The 
poetical contests held by the society, and known as the 
Jeux Floraux, are thought to have been revived from 
the neglect into which they had fallen, by Ctemence 
Isaure, a young lady of family, who devoted her pro- 
perty to form a perpetual endowment for these 
" games," or annual poetical contests, which are still 
kept up. There is an antient statue of C16mence in 
the Galerie des Illustres, but the epoch at which she 
lived is not ascertained. There are an academy of 
inscriptions, sciences, and belles-lettres ; an academy 
of painting, sculpture, and architecture ; a royal col- 
lege or high school, a seminary for the priesthood, a 
secondary school of medicine and surgery, a school of 
arts and trades, a drawing-school; a royal riding, 
music, and singing school ; courses of instruction in 

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geometry and practical mechanics; on experimental 
philosopny, chemistry, and midwifery, at the HtHel 
Dieii ; and societies of medicine, of the fine arts, and 
of agriculture. There are two public libraries, one of 
30,000. the other of 24,000 volumes : one of these 
(attached to the college) has the prayer-book (les 
Heures) of Charlemagne, written in golden letters on 
vellum, given by that prince to the abbey of St. Sernin, 
a.d. 778. There are (or were lately) eleven printing- 
offices, twenty-three booksellers' shops : two political 
journals, and nine devoted to literature and the sciences, 
are published. There are a botanic garden, a depart- 
mental nursery, and an observatory, where courses of 
instruction on astronomy are given. 

There are a society of maternal charity, a Protestant 
Bible Society, and a society for granting loans on se- 
curity without interest; two hospitals, an orphan 
asylum, and six maisons de secours, or houses for the 
relief of the destitute. 

The arrondissement of Toulouse has an area of 612 
square miles, and comprehends 13S communes: the 
population, in 1831, was 139,927; in 1836, 159,064. 
The arrondissement is divided into twelve cantons or 
districts, each under a justice of the peace. 



USES OF THE POPLAR-TREE. 



There is perhaps no tree better distinguished from 
others, even by those who possess but little knowledge 
on the subject, than the poplar. Its great height as 
compared with its diameter singles it out from most 
other trees, and has a very curious effect in the group- 
ing of a landscape. 

This tree is a native of Europe, of North America, 
and of some parts of Asia and North Africa. It is of 
rapid growth, and is everywhere remarkable for a 
degree of tremulous motion in the leaves when agi- 
tated by the least breath of wind ; this arises from the 
great length of the petioles, in proportion to the size 
and weight of the leaves to which they are attached. 
There are different varieties of the poplar, two or three 
of which we may notice in succession, in reference to 
their useful qualities. 

The White Poplar forms a tree from eighty to one 
hundred feet in height, generally with a clear trunk to 
a considerable height, and a spreading head thinly 
clothed with foliage. Many facts have been recorded 
illustrative of its rapid growth. Evelyn mentions one 
of these tTees at Sion, " which, being lopped in 
February, 1651, did, by the end of October, 1652, pro- 
duce branches as big as a man's wrist, and seventeen 
feet in height." Branches of the white poplar, nine 
feet long, planted on the banks of a stream some yards 
from the current, have been known in twelve years to 
produce trunks ten inches in diameter. It has been 
Btated that one of these trees, planted in a field, and 
surrounded by a fence at twenty-five feet distance from 
it on every side, formed by its suckers in twenty years 
a circular clump of wood fifty feet in diameter; and 
consequently that thirty or forty trees would cover an 
acre with a thick wood in the same space of time. 

The white poplar, or, as it is sometimes called, the 
Abele, was known to the Romans. As a road-side tree 
it has been much planted in modern times in Holland, 
Flanders, France, and Germany. In the forests of 
Fiance it is in some places so abundant as to form the 
prevailing tree over extensive tracts of country ; and 
it furnishes fuel for the adjoining towns, more especi- 
ally for bakers' ovens, those of Paris being almost en- 
tirely heated by the wood of this tree, which is then 
called bois Wane (white wood). 

As a timber-tree the white poplar does not hold a 
prominent rank. The wood is very white, and is used 
in Fiance and Germany for a variety of minor pur- 



poses, particularly where lightness of weiuht or of 
colour is desirable, or where an artificial colour is to 
be given to it by staining. It makes excellent pack- 
ing cases, because nails may be driven into it without 
its splitting. It is used by the turner and the cabinet- 
maker, and a great many toys and small articles arc 
made of it. The boards and rollers aroun/1 which 
pieces of silk are wrapped in merchants' warehouses 
and in shops are made of this wood, which is peculiarly 
suitable for this purpose from its lightness, lessening 
the expense of carnage. The principal use of the 
white poplar wood in Britain is for flooring-boards ; 
but for this purpose it requires to be seasoned two or 
three years before using. When felled at the point of 
maturity (at the age of about forty or fifty years, if 
growing on the banks of a river ; or sixty or seventy 
years, if growing in a dry situation) the wood is good 
for most kinds of building purposes, especially on 
farms, where it is very suitable for the large folding 
doors for barns, as it is light and does not warp. It is 
also used as a substitute for the wood of the lime-tree 
by musical-instrument makers. In Scotland it is 
sometimes used in mill-work, and by the cabinet- 
maker and turner ; and it is frequently used by the 
cooper for making wooden dishes and casks. In 
Sweden the leaves are eaten by cattle, and are con- 
sidered wholesome. 

The Black Poplar is a very large tree, with an ample 
head, composed of numerous branches and terminal 
shoots. The bark is ash-coloured, and becomes rough 
and deeply furrowed by age. This tree is found nearly 
in the same countries as the white poplar, but it is 
rather less common in the colder parts of Europe. In 
a natural state the leaves and young shoots are eaten 
by cattle. 

The timber of the black poplar is applied to most of 
the purposes connected witn the use of white poplar. 
Its most general use on the Continent is for nacking- 
cases, more especially for the transport or bottled 
wines. The wood is' yellow, soft, and, being more 
fibrous than that of any other species of poplar, it splits 
very readily. It is a good deal employed by joiners 
and cabinet-makers, as being soft and easy to work. 
The wood never splinters, and was said by Evelyn to 
be •' incomparable for all sorts of white wooden vessels, 
as trays, bowls, and other turner's ware." It is used 
for making clogs, and for the soles as well as heels of 
wooden shoes. It is employed by the cartwright ; and 
it was ranked by Vitruvius among building-timber. 
When planted thickly, and cut down for rafters, poles, 
and rails, few trees make a quicker return. In Russia 
the bark is employed in the preparation of morocco 
leather; and when it is pulverized it is eaten by sheep; 
in England it is used, like oak-bark, for tanning 
leather. The bark of the old trunk, being very thick, 
light, and corky, is employed by fishermen to support 
their nets, and is sometimes used as cork for bottles. 

The buds, macerated in boiling water, and after- 
wards bruised in a mortar and pressed, yield a fat 
substance which burns like wax and exhales a fine 
odour. The balsamic sap with which the buds are 
covered forms the basis of an ointment which was 
much prized in former times. The young shoots, 
especially when the plants are kept low, may be used 
as a substitute for the willow in basket-making. 
When the tree is pollarded and lopped every three or 
four years, it produces a great quantity of fuel, which 
can be used green. The shoots with the leaves on arc 
formed into brooms. The cottony substance or flock 
which surrounds the seeds has been used in Germany 
and France as wadding ; and it has also been manu- 
factured into cloth, hats, and paper ; but the expense 
of collecting it, and the want of length and elasticity 
in the fibre, occasioned the manufacture to be given 



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up. In Kamtschalka and in Norway the inhabitants 
are sometimes under the necessity of drying the inner 
bark and grinding it, in order to mix it with their 
oatmeal. The flowers of this tree are said to be much 
Bought after by bees. 

The Lombard]) poplar is the tall slender variety which 
forms the most distinctive instance of the species. It 
grows extensively in Lombardy, whence it derived its 
name ; and has become a favourite throughout Europe 
for the fine effect which it produces in the grouping 
of an ornamental plantation. Mr. Loudon (whose in- 
defatigable and valuable labours have been recently 
terminated by death) gives numerous cuts to illustrate 
the effect of the Lombardy poplar upon landscape 
scenery. 

The wood of this tree is inferior to that of the black 
poplar, but is still serviceable for many purposes. 
When Arthur Young, the agriculturist, travelled in 
Italy, he found that the Lombardy poplar grew to 
the height of forty feet in eight years, and that in 
twelve years it was fit to be cut down for building pur- 
poses. Rafters, small beams, boards, &c, brushed 
over with coal-tar and brick-dust laid on hot, have stood 
sixteen years without the least decay. In twenty 
years the tree produces a trunk two feet in diameter. 
All the vessels in which grapes were carried home 
from the vineyards were formerly made of Lombardy 
poplar planks about two inches thick ; but they are 
now formed of the wood of the black poplar. These 
kind of vessels last thirty or forty years ; and in con- 
sequence of the lightness of the wood, they are easily 
manageable, however large they may be : one of them 
is generally placed on a four-wheeled cart, and holds 
fifteen cwt. of grapes. 

Mr. Murray mentions a curious phenomenon con- 
nected with the Lombardy poplar, which is probably 
attributable to its great height :— " I had frequently 
observed, in avenues of trees, that the entire space 
engrossed by their shady foliage was completely 
saturated with moisture ; and that during the pre- 
valence of a fog, when the ground beneath was 
completely parched, the wet which fell from their 
branches more resembled a gentle shower than any- 
thing else; and in investigating the phenomenon, 
which I am disposed to consider entirely electrical, I 
think the elm exhibits this feature more remarkably 
than any other tree of the forest. I never, however, 
was more astonished than I was in the month of Sep- 
tember, 1828, on witnessing a very striking example 
of this description. I had taken an early walk on the 
road leading from Stafford to Lichfield; a dense fog 
prevailed, but the road was dry and dusty, while it was 
quite otherwise with a line of a few Lombardy poplars ; 
for from them it rained so plentifully, and so last, that 
any one of them might have been used as an admirable 
shower-bath ; and the constant stream of water supplied 
by the aggregate would (properly directed) have 
sufficed to turn an ordinary mill." This was probably 
occasioned by a cloud of vapour, driven towards the 
trees, being condensed by contact with their foliage. 

There are several varieties of the poplar in America. 
One of these, called by the somewhat circuitous name 
of the Various-sliaped-leaved Poplar-tree, is a native 
of North America, producing a soft light yellowish 
wood, applied to some few purposes in the arts. An- 
other, called the Baham poplar* yields a balsam, from 
which its name is derived. This balsam is procured 
from the buds, and used formerly to be sent from 
Canada and other parts of North America in shells, 
under the name of •' baume focot;" having been col- 
lected from the trees in spring, when, in consequence 
of the heat, it is dissolved, and collects into drops on 
the points of the buds. It is of a smooth and even 
texture, and is soluble in spirits of wine. In Siberia 



a medicated wine is prepared from the buds, which 
is diuretic, and considered serviceable in the scurvy. 
Pallas states that the grouse and other birds of that 
family that feed on the buds of this poplar during 
winter have their flesh imbued with a grateful balsamic 
flavour. 

One of the most remarkable varieties is the Trembling 
Poplar, more commonly known as the Aspen. The 
trembling to which its leaves are subjected when the 
slightest breath of wind blows is owing to the manner 
in which they are connected to the stalks. The allu- 
sions to this tree in our poets and novelists are so nu- 
merous, that many will occur to the minds of most 
readers ; but we shall here only mention a few of the 
uses of the tree. 

In the natural state the bark forms the principal 
food of beavers, in those countries where the animal 
abounds ; and deer, goats, and other quadrupeds are 
fonder of the spray and buds of this than of any other 
tree. The young shoots and leaves, produced in the 
form of sucKf rs from the roots, are greedily eaten by 
cattle and sheep. The wood is white and tender, and 
is employed by turners ; by coopers, for herring-caska, 
milk-pails, &c. ; by sculptors and engravers ; by join- 
ers and cabinet-makers; and the makers of various 
minor articles, such as clogs, butchers' trays, pack- 
saddles, &c. In France, sabots are made of the wood, 
and also the bars and pins which serve to retain uio 
bottoms of casks ; under-pinnings for flooring, laths, 
rounds of ladders, and wooden vessels of different 
kinds. The leaves are employed in France, Germany, 
and Sweden as food for cattle, sheep, and goats, either 
in a green or dried state ; and they are cut every two 
years for that purpose during summer. The powdered 
bark, given in doses of half a pound each, is useful for 
some of the diseases of horses. In Russia the bark is 
used in domestic medicine for scorbutic cases. In 
the Highlands of Scotland the bark of the young trees 
is sometimes made into torches. As fuel, the wood is 
of inferior quality ; but on account of its giving out 
its heat with great rapidity, it is deemed fitted for 
heating ovens and close stoves. 



Memory of Bees, — I was living in a town where I knew some 
few bees were kept, and I chanced to have some coarse comb, 
from which the honey had drained ; so, instead of being greedy, 
and squeezing out all I could get, I determined to give a feed 
all round to such bees as chose to accept my invitation to dinner. 
This invitation I gave by opening the window, and setting tbe 
honey on the sill. Iu about half an hour some foragers found it 
out ; they helped themselves, and carried back the good news 
to the sisters in the hive. In the course of the moruiog my 
room literally swarmed with bees, and I need not tell you, as 
they are grateful creatures, that they did not meddle with me, 
but as I sat at my books, repaid me for my treat with their 
sweet music. In the afternoon they were satisfied, at least for 
the day, and dropped off, one by one, without committing any 
excess. There is nothing strange iu all this, but now comes the 
wonderful part of the story : I, myself, got up next morning, 
some time before bees are usually stirring, and, as I went to my 
window (it was iu September) to see the first rays of tbe sun in 
the eastern sky, I was much surprised, and not a little delighted, 
to see a number of bees, who had remembered and beeu grateful 
for their dinner the day liefore, waiting for me to let them in to 
a similar breakfast Aj some of the honey was left, you cannot 
doubt but that I complied with their wish, which was clear 
enough to me, though they bad no tongue to express it. I 
opened the window; the room was soon filled; they cleared the 
combs of honey, and then went orderly away. They haunted 
my windows for several mornings after, though I had no more 
honey to give them. This is, I think, a pretty strong instance of 
memory in bees. — Cottons Bet-Hook. 



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[Anglo-Saxon Drawing.—- From St. jfcthel wold's ' Benedict iooal.'j 



THE FINE ARTS AMONG THE ANGLO- 
SAXONS. 
Although the examples are not very numerous, we 
have proof that the taste cultivated in the cloisters of 
the Anglo-Saxons was occasionally capable of efforts 
which would not have been unworthy of that period 
and that country to which we assign the revival of the 
arts. We are too much accustomed to think that 
there was no art in Europe, and very little learning, 
during what we are pleased to call the dark ages. 
But in the centuries so designated there were, in our 
own country, divines, historians, poets, whose acquire- 
ments might be an object of honourable rivalry to 
many of those who are accustomed to sneer at their 
scientific ignorance and their devotional credulity. At 
the time when Italian art was in the most debased 
condition, there was a monk in England (and there 
may have been many more such whose labours have 
perished) who, in all the higher qualities of design, 
might have rivalled the great painters who are held, 
three centuries later, to have been almost the creators 
of modern art. In the most successful labours of the 



wo. 758. 



Anglo-Saxon cloister there was probably little worldly 
fame ; of rivalry there was less. The artist, in the 
brief intervals of his studies and his devotions, laboured 
at some work for several years, which was to him a 
glory and a consolation. lie was worthily employed, 
and happily, because his pencil embodied the images 
which were ever present to his contemplation. He 
did not labour for wealth amidst struggling competi- 
tors. Dante says of the first great Italian artiste— 

•' Cimabue thought 
To lord it over painting's field ; and now 
The cry is Giotto's, and his name eclips'd. 
Thus hath one Guido from the other snatch'd 
The lettered prise : and he, perhaps, is bom, 
Who shall drive either from their nest. The noise 
Of worldly fame is but a blast of wind, 
That blows from diverse points, and shifts its name, 
Shilling the point it blows from." 

There is an Anglo-Saxon collection of drawings in 
existence, undoubtedly produced in the tenth century, 
whose excellence is such that the artist might have 
pretended " to lord it over painting's field '* even 

igittf©L. XIII.-*®£ 



26 



THE PENNY MAGAZINE. 



[January 27, 



amongst the Cimabucs and Giottos. His name is 
supposed to have been Godemann ; but even that is 
doubtful. To him, whoever he was, might now be 
addressed the subsequent lines of Dante — 

" Shalt thou more 
Live in the mouths of mankind, if thy flesh 
Part shrivellM from thee, than if thou haclst died 
Before the coral and the pap were left : 
Or e'er some thousand years have past ?" 

But he has vindicated the general claims of his country- 
men to take their rank, in times which men falsely call 
barbarous, amidst those who have worthily elevated 
the grosser conceptions of mankind into the ideal, 
showing that art had a wider and a purer sphere than 
the mere imitation of natural objects. The Benedic- 
tional of St. Eihclwold, an illuminated manuscript of 
the tenth century, in the library of the Duke of Devon- 
shire, is the work to which we allude. It is fully 
described by Mr. Gage, in the twenty-fourth volume 
of the * Archaeologia ;' and the Antiquarian Society, 
greatly to their honour, caused to be beautifully en- 
graved in their 'Transactions' thirty plates of the 
miniatures with which this remarkable work is 
adorned. This manuscript was the ancient Benedic- 
tional of the See of Winchester ; and it is stated at the 
commencement of the work, that " A prelate whom 
the Lord had caused to be head of the Church of 
Winchester, the great -fl£thelwold, commanded a 
certain monk subject to him to write the present book : 
he ordered also to be made in it many arches elegantly 
decorated and filled up with various ornamental 
pictures, expressed in divers beautiful colours and 
gold." At the end of this introduction, or dedication, 
the writer subscribes his name Godemann. This 
monk of St. Swithin's subsequently became Abbot of 
Thorney. Mr. Gage says, •• Although it is likely that 
this superb volume, filled with beautiful miniatures, 
and ornaments of the richest design, was finished 
before Godemann had the government of the Abbey of 
Thorney, we are sure of one thing, that it was executed 
in this country between the years 963, when Ethel- 
wold received the episcopal mitre, and 984, when he 
died. . . . That Godemann was the illuminator of 
the manuscript, as well as the writer of it, I see no 
reason to doubt. Illumination was part of the art of 
calligraphy; and, generally speaking, the miniature 
painting and the writing in the early manuscript are 
to be presumed the work of the same hand." To 
furnish a general idea, though certainly an insufficient 
one, of the remarkable merit of the miniatures of this 
book, we present a copy of the fifth plate, as en- 
graved in the ' Archaeologia.' It is the second of two 
miniatures entitled. • Chorus Virginum.' It is fortu- 
nately unnecessary that we should attempt ourselves 
any critical remarks on the rare merits of this early 
work of Anglo-Saxon art; for in the paper in the 
' Archaeologia ' is inserted a communication from the 
late Mr. Ottley, whose familiar acquaintance with the 
works of the early masters, both in painting and en- 
graving, and the general correctness of his judgment, 
have established for him a high reputation. We ex- 
tract from his letter a passage which points out not 
only the beauties, but defects of this work, and of 
Anglo-Saxon art in general ; and further notices the 
superiority of the best productions of this our early 
school, both in colour and drawing to the works of 
its European contemporaries : — 

" In the thirteenth century, as every one knows, the 
art of painting and sculpture in Italy received new 
life at the hands of Niccola Pisano, Giunta, Cimabue, 
and Giotto ; from which time they steadily progressed, 
till the happy era of Giulius II. and Leo X. But, for 
some centuries preceding the thirteenth, I have some- 



times seen reason to conjecture, that the arts were in a 
more flourishing state in various countries distant from 
Italy than there ; to say nothing of Greece, from which, 
it is probable, the inhabitants of those countries, like 
the Italians themselves, directly or indirectly, and per- 
haps at distant periods, originally derived instruction 
in those matters. That the art of miniature painting, 
especially, was better known and more successfully 
practised in France in the thirteenth century, and 
probably long before, than in Italy, has always ap- 
peared to me clear, from the well known passage in the 
eleventh canto of Dante's • Purgatorio,' where the 
poet thus addresses Oderigo d' Agubbio, a miniature 
painter, said to have been the friend of Cimabue : — 

* O dissi liu, non se' tu Oderisi, 
L' onor d Agubbio, e 1' onor di quell' arte 
Che alluminar £ chiamata a Parisi?' 

(' Art thou not Oderigi t art not thou 

Agobbio's glory, glory of that art 

Which they of Paris call the limner's skilM') 

" But to return to St. Ethelwold's manuscript. The 
next thing I would mention is the justness of the ge- 
neral proportions of the figures, especially those larger 
standing figures of Confessors, female Saints, and 
Apostles, which occupy the first seven pages of the 
book. The two groups, entitled Chorus Virginum, are 
particularly admirable in this respect, as well as for the 
easy gracefulness of the attitudes of some of them, and 
the cast of the draperies ; so that, had the faces more 
beauty and variety of expression, and were the hands 
less like one another in their positions, and better 
drawn, little wou$ remain to be desired. This defi- 
ciency of beauty in the heads, amounting, I fear I must 
admit, to positive ugliness, appears to have been in a 
great measure occasioned by the difficulty which the 
artist encountered in his attempts to finish them with 
body-colours; as may be seen by comparing these 
heads with those drawn only in outline in the last mi- 
niature in the book ; if, indeed, the colouring was not 
in great part performed by a different person from 
him who drew the outlines ; and, I would add, that the 
fault is more apparent, throughout the volume, in the 
large than in the smaller figures. Indeed, the lifcle 
angels, holding scrolls, or sacred volumes, especially 
the two last, have so much gracefulness and animation, 
are so beautifully draped, and so well adapted in their 
attitudes to the spaces they occupy, that I hardly know 
how to praise them sufficiently. •* 

'• Wherever the naked parts of the figure are shown, 
there we have most evidence of the incompetence of 
the artist; and consequently the figures of the 
Apostles, whose feet and ankles appear uncovered, are 
less agreeable than those of the above female Saint. 
But, as you are aware, this unskilfulness in the art of 
drawing the naked parts of the human figure is not the 
fault of the painter, but of the period ; and indeed, it 
was not until three centuries after the date of this 
manuscript, that any notable advancement was made 
in this difficult part of the art. 

" The draperies of the figures throughout the volume, 
with scarce any exception, are well cast ; though the 
smaller folds are often too strongly marked in propor- 
tion to the larger ones ; which, with the want of any 
decided masses of light and shadow distinguishing 
those sides of objects which are turned towards the 
light from such as are not so, prevents their producing 
the agreeable effect which they otherwise would do : 
but this, again, is more the fault of the time than of the 
artist. The colouring throughout these Illuminations 
is rich, without being gaudy. It is possible that in the 
tenth century some of the gay colours, in the use of 
which the miniature painters of more modern times 
indulged so freely, were but little known. If I am 



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wrong in this supposition, we must accord to the illu- 
minator of this manuscript the praise of having pos- 
sessed a more chastened taste than many of suc- 
cessors." 

It would be absurd to pretend that the work attri- 
buted to Godemann is an average specimen of Anglo- 
Saxon art. The illuminations, for example, are very 
superior to those of the sacred poem known as Caed- 
mon's Metrical Paraphrase of Scripture History, pre- 
served in the Bodleian Library at Oxford. In these 
the human figure is badly drawn ; and there is perhaps 
more of invention in the initial letters than in the 
larger compositions. 



LOCOMOTION OF ANIMALS.— No. V. 
It was stated in the last number that in walking the 
leg swings by the force of gravity, like the pendulum 
of a clock, and that no muscular effort is required for 
that purpose. Now many persons may naturally ask 
how has this been discovered, or in what manner can 
it be proved, and what are the results of this principle 
in the locomotion of the human race ? These are the 
points which we propose at once to examine. An at- 
tentive observer of persons in the act of walking may 
easily detect that the time of each step is constant in the 
same person when moving at the same rate ; and he 
will see how very quickly the steps of children are 
taken, when compared with those of grown persons. 
A child and a man never take their steps in the same 
time when they are walking at their natural paces. 

These circumstances have recently attracted the at- 
tention of Messrs. W. and E. Weber, one of them a 
celebrated anatomist, and the other a distinguished 
natural philosopher. 

In order to ascertain whether in walking the legs 
of human beings are moved by means of their muscles, 
or by any other extraneous force, they made the fol- 
lowing experiments on dead bodies: — In the first ex- 
periment, the lower extremity of a person, removed 
at the hip-joint, was suspended by a short string, so 
that it might move as if it were in its natural position. 
An impulse having been given, they found that the 
limb oscillated backwards and forwards nearly in the 
same time as that of a living person of the same 
length, when walking at the top of his speed. In 
the second experiment, they cut through all the 
muscles of the thigh, and left the thigh-bone ad- 
hering to the hip-joint. In this case the leg oscillated 
rather more frequently than in the preceding one. In 
a third experiment, they caused ine leg to oscillate 
without cutting its muscles, and they then compared 
the durations of the movements in the above-mentioned 
cases with the motions of legs of equal length in living 
persons. By these means they found that the legs of 
the latter performed their movements in very nearly 
the same time as those of the dead, not differing from 
each other more than from one to two hundredths 
of a second in each oscillation. Having thus found 
that death did not sensibly alter the time of the move- 
ments of the legs, they concluded that the muscles did 
not affect them during life. In following out these 
researches, Messrs. Weber found that the duration of 
the movement of the legs depended on their lengths, 
and that the longest leg required the greatest time in 
its pendulous movement ; also that the times of their 
oscillations varied as the square roots of their lengths, 
precisely like the pendulum of a clock. We have 
also found by experiment that the length of each step is 
proportionate to the length of the legs. In the quickest 
walking the length of each step is rather more, and 
in moderate walking rather less, than the length of the 
extended leg, measured from the hip-joint to the 
ground. 



It must, however, be borne in mind that 6ince the 
length of a step increases as the length of the leg, 
whilst the duration of the step only increases as the 
square root of that length, the time occupied by tall per- 
sons in taking a step is not so great in proportion as that 
occupied by shorter persons ; otherwise a child would 
be able to walk as fast as the tallest man. For instance, 
let us suppose the lengths of the legs of a man and 
child to be respectively three and two feet : the lengths 
of these steps will be as three to two, but the durations 
of the steps will be as the square root of three to the 
square root of two, or as 3 to 2*45 nearly ; that is, # 
the child will take a much longer time than the man* 
for a step in proportion to the lengths of their steps. 
It appears from this that the respective rates of walk- 
ing of the man and child, which are proportional to 
their lengths of step divided by their times, will be 
very nearly as five to four, so that the man will walk 
five miles whilst the child walks four. These results 
are true in all cases of ordinary quick walking, but this 
may be varied by calling into action extraordinary 
muscular power, which, however, as we have already 
stated, can be sustained only for a very short period. 

When we speak of the length of a pendulum, such as 
that of a clock, it must not be understood to mean the 
whole length of the body of which it is composed, but 
the distance from its axis of motion to its centre of os- 
cillation. 

By the term centre of oscillation we are to understand 
a point in the vibrating body, in which, if the whole 
mass were concentrated, and attached to the same axis 
of motion, it would vibrate in the same time as the 
body actually does in its natural state. The lengths of 
pendulums may be found experimentally by counting 
the number of oscillations which they make in a given 
time ; for it is found that the lengths of two pendulums 
are respectively in the inverse ratio of the squares of the 
number of oscillations made by them in the same time. 
If a pendulum be composed of a prismatic rod of uni- 
form density, suspended by one end, its centre of os- 
cillation will be two-thirds of its length from its axis of 
motion. 

In the human leg the centre of oscillation is found 
experimentally by counting the number of the oscilla- 
tions which it makes in a given time when suffered to 
swing freely. It is thus found to be nearly at the 
same distance from the hip-joint, which is its axis of 
motion, as if it were a prismatic rod, that is, nearly 
two-thirds of its length measured from the hip-joint to 
the sole of the foot ; or, more accurately, as the length 
of the leg so measured multiplied by 0*587, the product 
of which is rather less than two-thirds the whole 
length. 

As a consequence of the similarity of the motion of 
the leg in walking to the swinging of a pendulum, and 
of its depending on the same cause, namely, the force 
of gravity, we may observe, that a man will find him- 
self able to walk at a sensibly quicker rate in high 
northern latitudes than at or near the equator. It is 
well known that a pendulum of given length makes a 
greater number of oscillations the further it is carried 
from the equator, for that number varies as the square- 
root of the force of gravity which continually increases 
from the equator to the pole ; and, since we have seen 
that there is little if any muscular exertion in the act 
of walking, so far at least as relates to the backward 
and forward motion of the legs, we may fairly con- 
clude that gravity will produce the same effect on 
them as on any other oscillating body similarly cir- 
cumstanced. 

Thus we perceive how dependent our movements 
are on the quantity of force exerted by gravity on the 
body, and how admirably the human organs are con- 
stituted to act in accordance with the physical state of 

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the earth ; and we shall become more sensible of this 
fact when we reflect that if the earth's force of gravity 
on the body had been double, a man would scarcely 
be able (as now constituted) to support his own 
weight, and the legs would be only able to force the 
trunk forwards very slowly, whilst the swinging leg 
would move through its arc of oscillation in a much 
less period of time than it now does, and arrive at its 
destination to receive the trunk long before the standing 
leg would propel the latter to its destined position. On 
the surface of the sun, the force of gravity being 
more than twenty-seven times greater than on that of 
the earth, a man, says Sir J. Herschel, would be 
crushed by the weight of his own head ; again, on the 
planet Jupiter, the strongest man could scarcely 
support his own weight. On the surface of Mars, on 
the contrary, the power of the muscles would be 
three times, on the Moon six tiroes, and on the smaller 
planets twenty times greater than on the Earth ; con- 
sequently on one of the latter, a man would be able 
to spring twenty yards high, and sustain no greater 
shock by his fall than he does on the earth by leap- 
ng a yard. These facts serve to illustrate the wonderful 
manner in which the muscular power of man is adapted 
to his movements on the earth's surface, and to 
counteract the force of gravity. Having now shown 
in what manner the time of a step and its length are 
regulated in walking, we will proceed to investigate 
the positions of the two legs during the period of a 
step. Let us suppose that a person is in the position 
of figure I, in which it will be observed that the head of 




the thigh-bone at a is vertically over the foot of the same 
leg by and that the hinder leg is extended to its utmost 
length immediately before it is lifted from the ground. 
Now in this position the whole weight of the body is 
supported by the forward log, because the centre of 
gravity of the whole body, which lies nearly in the 
line joining a with the head of the other thigh-bone, 
is thrown a little on the side of the leg a b, so that 
the vertical line through the centre of gravity may fall 
within the base of support, the sole of the foot. In this 
figure b o is the length of a single step, and since the 
squares of a 6 and b c are equal to the square of a c t we 
find that the, sum of the squares of the elevation of the 
centre of gravity of the body above the horizontal 
plane, and of the length of the step, is equal to the 
square of the length of the extended leg. It is right 
to mention that, strictly speaking, this expression 
would be slightly modified oy certain circumstances, 



the consideration of which would lead to details 
unsuited to a popular treatise.* This position, wherein 
the legs form with the ground a right-angled triangle, 
recurs at the beginning of every step. The walker 
being now in the position preparatory to making a 
step, namely, that in which the extremities oi the two 
legs form with the ground a right-angled triangle, and 
the right leg in advance of the left, let us follow him 
through the step, and mark its several stages. The 
left leg is first raised from the ground, and the knee 
and ankle joints are bent, in order to shorten the leg 
and allow it to awing freely in the air. It then swings 
forwards, and, passing the right leg, is placed on the 
ground in a new position,! as far in advance of the 
standing leg as it was previously behind it : during 
this period the centre of gravity advances in an almost 
horizontal line, and the supporting leg, which at the 
beginning of the step was bent at the knee and ankle 
joints, is gradually extended until it is in a position 
precisely similar to that of the other leg at starting. 
U has been already mentioned that in this action the 
supporting leg not only bears the whole weight of the 
body, but pushes the centre of gravity upwards and 
forwards, in consequence of which the trunk is thrown 
in advance of the base of support, and would fall 
downwards, but the left leg arriving immediately 
under the advanced position of the trunk, receives its 
weight and prevents its falling ; when the trunk is thus 
caught by the forward leg, the latter slightly bends at 
the joints, so that the shock caused by the foot with its 
burden reaching the ground becomes almost impcr- 
ccptible.f The left leg having now taken a position in 
advance of the right, and been placed in a state fit to 
support the whole of the trunk, the right leg is free to 
move in a similar manner ; and thus in walking the 
two legs interchange their offices alternately. If we 
examine the action of the supporting leg, we shall 
find that it exerts two forces, one of which pushes 
the centre of gravity upwards, and is exactly equal 
to and counteracted by the weight of the body; 
the other urges the centre forwards, and is equal to the 
sum of the resistances, such as that of the forward leg 
when placed on the ground, the air, the friction of the 
body, &c., which act in an opposite direction, and tend 
to drive the body back, so that the movement of the 
centre of gravity is very nearly uniform, at least its 
mean motion may be considered as actually so. It 
may appear to some rather paradoxical that the force 
which drives the body forwards in a uniform motion 
should equal those which drive it backwards, yet the 
necessity of this becomes apparent when we reflect that 
if the force employed at every step to urge the body 
forwards were greater than that which impedes its pro- 
gress, there would be in walking a constant accumula- 
tion of force in a forward direction, which would impel 
the trunk faster than the legs, and the latter could not 
keep pace with the trunk without great muscular 
labour, which would soon produce exhaustion, and the 
walker would consequently be obliged to stop, or else 
would quickly fall to the ground on bis face. This 
evil is prevented by the above-mentioned aiechanical 
condition, namely, that the forces which drive the centre 
of gravity of the body forwards in walking, are equal 
to those which drive it back. 

* Those who wish to pursue this subject farther may consult 
Dr. Todd's * Cyclopaedia of Anatomy and Physiology,' Art. 
Motion. 

f How treat and painful the shock would be were the joints 
not to bend, may be imagined by those who have in walking un- 
intentionally descended a step whilst they fancied themselves on 
level ground ; in this case the leg is placed on tlte ground in a 
rigid state, and causes a severe shock to the body, more especially 
to the spinal column. 



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[Stock Exchange, Co^-l Coiut.] 



THE STOCK EXCHANGE. 

[Extracted from • Londou,' No. CXUV.] 

Towards the close .of the last century the increased 
scale of transactions in the Funds, and the new loans 
which were continually being raised, induced the prin- 
cipal frequenters of the stock-market to subscribe for 
the erection of a building for their accommodation. 
Capel Court, on the east side of Bartholomew Lane, 
once the residence of Sir William Capel, Lord Mayor 
in 1504, was fixed upon as a convenient situation for 
the purpose. The first stone was laid on the 18th of 
May, 1801, and contains an inscription, which states, 
for the information of remote posterity, that the national 
debt was then upwards of five hundred millions. This 
building, which is the present Stock Exchange, was 
opened in March, 1802. The entrance to Capel Court 
is nearly opposite the door at the east end of the Bank, 
leading to the room in that building called the 
Rotunda. 

No one is allowed to transact business at the Stock 
Exchange unless he is a member. If a stranger un- 
luckily wanders into the place, he is quickly hustled 
out. There are about three hundred and fifty firms of 
stock-brokers in London, whose places of business are 
situated in the streets, courts, and alleys within five 
minutes' walk of the Royal Exchange. To these we 
must add thirty or forty bullion, bill, and discount 
brokers. All the more respectable of these money- 
dealers are members of the Stock Exchange, and the 
total number of members is at present about six hun- 
dred and fifty. The admission takes place by ballot, 
and the committee of the Slock Exchange, which con- 
sists of twenty-four members, is elected in the same 
manner. Every new member of the " House," as it is 
called, must be introduced by three respectable members, 
each of whom enters into security in 300/. for two years. 
At the end of two years, when the respectability of the 
party is supposed to be fairly ascertained and known, 



the liability of the sureties ceases; but, as each 
member of the house is re-elected every year, if in the 
course of the preceding twelvemonth there is anything 
discreditable in his conduct, he is not re-elected. If a 
member becomes a defaulter, he ceases to be a member ; 
though, after inquiry, he may be re-admitted on paying 
a certain composition ; but he must be re-admitted, if 
at all, by vote of the committee. When a member 
becomes unable to pay his creditors, there are certain 
official assignees who receive all the money due to him 
and divide it amongst his creditors. No man can be 
re-admitted unless he pays 6*. Sd. in the pound, from 
resources of his own, over and above what has been 
collected from bis debtors. As some of the practices 
of the Stock Exchange are contrary to law, and cannot 
be enforced in the courts, the members are only to be 
held to them by a sense of honour, and such restraints 
in the way of exposure and degradation as the govern- 
ing committee may be authorised to apply by the ge- 
neral body of members. Cases of dishonourable or 
disgraceful conduct are punished by expulsion. The 
names of defaulters are posted on the " black board," 
and, in the language of the Stock Exchange, they are 
then technically called '* lame ducks." In short, the 
committee have the power of effectually destroying the 
credit of a member whose transactions are of a dis- 
honourable nature. They investigate the conduct of 
members whenever called upon by other parties, and 
give their award according to the evidence. 

The two leading classes of men who have dealings 
on the Stock Exchange are the jobbers and the 
brokers, though the business peculiar to each is not 
unfrcquently transacted by one person. Some members 
deal for the most part in English stocks, others in 
foreign, and many confine their attention principally to 
shares in mines, railways, canals, joint-stock banks, and 
other public companies ; some call themselves discount- 
brokers and money-dealers, and transact business to a 
large extent in commercial securities — that \$, in bills 



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[January 27, 



drawn by merchants and tradesmen on mercantile 
transactions. Bargains aie made in the presence of 
a third party, and ihe terms are simply entered in a 
pocket-book ; but they are checked next day, and the 

iobber's clerk (their clerks are members also of the 
louse) pays or receives the money, and sees that the 
securities aFe correct. There are but three or four 
dealers in Exchequer Bills, and the greater number 
of these securities pass through their hands. The 
majority of the members of the Stock Exchange em- 
ploy their capital in any way which offers the slightest 
chance of profit, and keep it in convertible securities, 
so that it can be changed from hand to hand almost at 
a moment's notice. The brokers are employed to exe- 
cute the orders of bankers, merchants, capitalists, and 
private individuals ; and the jobbers on 'Change are 
the parties with whom they deal. When the broker 
appears in the market, he is surrounded by the jobbers. 
One of the " cries" of the Stock Exchange is " Borrow 
money ? borrow money ?" a singular one to general ap- 
prehension ; but it must be under-stood that the credit 
of the borrower must either be first-rate or his security 
of the most satisfactory nature ; and that it is not the 
principal who goes into this market, but his broker. 
'• Have you money to lend to-day ?" is a question asked 
with a nonchalance which would astonish the simple 
man who goes to a " friend " with such a question in 
his mouth. "Yes," may be the replv. '* I want 
10,000/. or 20,000/." " On what security ?"— for that is 
the vital question ; and that point being settled, the 
transaction goes on smoothly and quickly enough. 
Another mode of doing business is to conceal the object 
of the borrower or lender, who asks, " What are Ex- 
chequer ?" The answer may be, *' Forty to forty-two." 
That is, the party addressed will buy 1000/. at 40*., and 
Bell 1000/. at 42*. The jobbers cluster around the 
broker, who perhaps says, *• I must have a price in 
5000//' If it suits them they will say, " Five with me, 
five with me, five with me, making fifteen ; or they 
will say each, " Ten with me ;" and it is the brokers 
business to get these parties pledged to buy of him at 
40, or to sell to him at 42, they not knowing whether 
he is a buyer or seller. The broker then declares his 
purpose, saying, for example, " Gentlemen, I sell to 
you 20y000/. at 40 ;" and the sum is then apportioned 
among them. If the money were wanted only for a 
month, and the Exchequer market remained the same 
during that time, the buyer would have to give 42 in 
the market for what he sold at 40, being the difference 
between the buying and the selling price ; besides 
which he would have to pay the broker 1*. per cent, 
commission on the sale, and 1*. per cent, on the pur- 
chase again on the bills, which would make altogether 
4*. per cent. If the object of the broker be to buy 
Consols, the jobber offers to buy bis 20,000/. at 96, or 
to sell him that amount at 96}, without being at all 
aware which he is engaging himself to do. The 
same person may not know on any particular day 
whether he will be a borrower or lender. If he has 
sold stock and has not repurchased, about one or two 
o'clock in the day he would be a lender of money ; 
but if he has bought stock, and not sold, ne 
would be a borrower. Immense sums are lent on 
condition of being recalled at the short notice of a 
few hours. These loans are often for so short a 
period, that the uninitiated, who have no other 
idea of borrowing than that which the old proverb 
supplies, that " He who goes a-borrowing goes a- 
sorrowing," would wonder that any man should borrow 
10,000/. or 20,000/. for a day. or at most a fortnight, 
and which is liable to be called for at the shortest 
notice. The facilities which the Stock Exchange 
affords for the easy flow of capital in any direction 
where profit is to be secured will explain the mystery. 



The directors of a railway company, whose receipts 
are 12,000/. or 14,000/. per week, instead of locking up 
this sum every week in their strong-box, as a premium 
for the ingenuity of London thieves, authorise a broker 
to lend it on proper securities. Persons who pay 
large duties to government at fixed periods, and are in 
receipt of these duties from the time of their last pay- 
ment, make something of the gradually accumulating 
sum by lending it for a week or two. A person whose 
capital is intended to be laid out in mortgage on real 
property finds it advantageous to lend it out until he 
meets with a suitable offer. The great bankers have 
constantly large sums which are not required for their 
till, and they direct their brokers to lend this surplus 
cash on the Stock Exchange. One banker lends about 
400,000/. to the jobbers on every settling-day. Bankers 
are also borrowers at times, as well as lenders. The 
Bank of England sometimes, and also the East India 
Company, employ their brokers to raise money on the 
Stock Exchange. Some members of the Slock Ex- 
change call themselves, appropriately enough, "mana- 
gers of balances." Whatever the market rate of 
interest may be, it is more advantageous to a capitalist 
to employ his resources at the smallest rate of profit 
rather than that it should remain idle. Sometimes the 
jobber, at the close of the day, will lend his money at 
1 per cent, rather than not employ it at all. But the 
extraordinary fluctuations in the rate of interest, even 
in the course of a single day, are a sufficient temptation 
to the money-lender to resort to the Stock Exchange. 
During the shutting of the stocks money is invariably 
scarce ; but as soon as the dividends become payable, 
it is again abundant. At other times, on one day the 
rate of interest will be 10 per cent., and the next day 
only 2. The rate of interest offered in the morning 
will also frequently differ from that which can be 
obtained in the afternoon. Instances have occurred 
in which everybody has been anxious to lend money 
in the morning at 4 per cent., when about two o'clock 
money has become so scarce that it could with diffi- 
culty be borrowed at 10 per cent. For example, if 
the price of Consols be low, persons who are desirous 
of raising money will give a high rate of interest rather 
than sell stock. Again, an individual wants to borrow 
100,000/. on Consols, but they happen to be in great 
demand, and the jobber may borrow on them at 2 per 
cent., and lend the very same money on another de- 
scription of Government security at 5 per cent. The 
constant recurrence of these opportunities of turning 
capital is of course the life and soul of the Stock 
Exchange. 

The profit of the jobber, after he has concluded a 
bargain, depends upon the state of the market, which 
may be depressed by extensive sales, or by the compe- 
tition of buyers. These jobbers are middle men, who 
are always ready either to buy or sell at a minute's 
notice, and hence a broker, in dealing for his principal, 
who wants to borrow money, has no need to hunt after 
another broker, who has money of another principal 
to lend, but each resorts to the jobber, who is both a 
borrower and lender. The following information as 
to the extent of the transactions of a firm of stock- 
brokers, or, perhaps, more properly speaking, of 
money-dealers, or, to use the technical phrase, " ma- 
nagers of balances," is official, and may be fully relied 
on :— " Our business, in addition to that of mere stock- 
brokers, extends to the dealing in money, that is, 
borrowing of bankers, capitalists, and others, their 
surplus or unemployed moneys, for the purpose of 
lending again at advanced rates, the difference of rate 
being our remuneration for the trouble and risk 
attendant thereon. By the general facility thus 
afforded, from our being almost always ready either to 
borrow or lend, we have become, as it were, a channel 



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31 



directly or indirectly for a great portion of the loans 
between Lombard-street and the Stock Exchange; 
and the magnitude of our money-dealings will be at 
once understood when I state that we have both had 
and made loans to upwards of 200,000/. at a time with 
one house ; that the payments and receipts through 
our banking account on each side amount to eighteen 
or twenty millions per annum, but our loan transac- 
tions far exceed that sum, and extend to the vast 
kinount of from thirty to forty millions a year. Our 
loans for the year ending October, 1841, exceeded 
thirty millions, being an average of three millions a 
month, or 100,000/. a day ; and generally, upon four 
or five days in every month, the loans have amounted 
to 150, 2, 3, 4, 5, and even 700,000/. in a single day." 



HUDIBRAS.— No. II. 



The period from the accession of James I. to the de- 
position of James II. was one of progressive revolution 
in England, both in church and state. Elizabeth was 
the last of our monarchs who was able to exercise any- 
thing like arbitrary power, and while the legitimate 
influence of the middle classes was gradually but surely 
increasing, the pretensions to kingly power became 
under James I. and Charles I. the more extravagant, 
and the exercise of these powers even more absurdly 
vexatious and annoying than really oppressive. There 
was unquestionably a growing earnestness among 
the people in all matters connected with religion ; in- 
stead of endeavouring to satisfy this feeling, and con- 
duct it in a proper direction, James in the year 1G17 
published his famous Book of Sports, ordaining what 
pastimes ought to be used on " Sundays, after evening 
prayers ended, and upon holidays," bear and bull bait- 
ings and bowls being the only sports interdicted, and 
these only upon such days. Tnat this measure should 
have revolted many of the serious-minded, whether 
churchmen or dissenters, was what might naturally 
have been expected, but it was not till its re-issue by 
Charles, in 1633, that it developed all the injurious effects 
it had produced on the cause of royalty. During the 
interval it, of course, did not escape unattacked or un- 
defended : polemical disputes on this and many similar 
matters, such as stage-plays and dress, became vehicles 
for the bitterest personal invectives, ancflibels, such as 
those for which Prynne and others of his party were so 
severely punished, may well explain the irritated feel- 
ings of the time, 

" When hard words, jealousies, and fears, 
Set folks together hy the ears :" 

— words of a more important character than those of 
the feeble supposition of Dr. Grey, who imagines that 
Butler alluded to " the cant words used by Presby- 
terians and Sectaries of those times, such as Gospel- 
walking, Gospel-preaching, Soul-saving," &c. ; nor 
does Butler imply, nor was it the case, that the " hard 
words " were all on the side of the Presbyterian party. 
Unfortunately, the " soft answer that turneth away 
wrath " was neglected alike by all. 

It was the issuing of this Book of Sports that pro- 
duced or exaggerated the peculiarities of the non-con- 
formists in opposing those customary observances 
alluded to in the account of Hudibras's religion, which 
is said to have been " Presbyterian true blue :" 

" A sect, whose chief devotion liei 
In odd perverse antipathies : 
In falling out with that or this, 
And finding somewhat still amiss : 
More peevish, cross, and splenetic, 
Than dog distract, or monkey sick. 
That with more care keep holiday 
The wrong, than others the right way : 



Com pour d fur sins they are inclin'd to t 

By damning those they have no mind to. 

Still so perverse and opposite, 

As if they worshipp'd God for suite. 

The self-same tiling they will abhor 

One way, and long another for. 

Free-will they one way disavow ; 

Another, nothing else allow. 

All piety consists therein 

In them, in other men all sin. 

Rather than fail, they will defy 

That which they love most tenderly; 

Quarrel with minc'd-pies, and disparage 

Their best and dearest friend plum-porridge ; 

Fat pig, and goose itself, oppose, 

And blaspheme custard thro' the nose." 

While such a contest was raging, it was inevitable 
that even good and wise men should differ as to the 
courses they would pursue. The enthusiastic would 
promote change in the hope of improvement; the cau- 
tious would resist it in the fear of injuring the good 
they possessed ; the rash on both sides were for pro- 
ceeding to extremities at all hazards; while the selfish 
and the timid, the knaves and the fools, followed the 
paths dictated by their interest, their fears, their hopes, 
or their prejudices. Hudibras and Ralph are ingenious 
compounds of the whole. Butler was a Conservative ; 
and nad probably always been so. He was not of those 

* State Converts' he has himself described, •' that never 
left rebellion until it left him ;" and his having been a 
clerk to a Presbyterian justice by no means indicates 
that he had ever adopted his employer's principles or 
was guilty of any ingratitude in ridiculing them. He 
has done this most unsparingly, it is true, but in his 

* Remains,' vol. ii., p. 470, 'Thoughts on various Sub- 
jects,' we have his more serious opinion, that " All 
reformations of religion seldom extend further than 
the mere opinions of men. The amendment of their 
lives and conversations are equally unregarded by all 
churches, how much soever they differ in doctrine and 
discipline. And though all the reformation our 
Saviour preached to the world was only repentance 
and amendment of life, without taking any notice at 
all of men's opinions and judgments ; yet all the Chris- 
tian churches take the contrary course, and believe 
religion more concerned in our erroneous opinions, than 
all the most inhuman and impious actions in the 
world." 

In Hudibras and Ralph he has delineated with in- 
imitable wit and force tne characteristic defects of the 
sectarian party — defects, however, from many of which 
his own side was not altogether exempt. For in- 
stance — 

" He was in logic a great critic, 
Profoundly skill'd in analytic; 
He could distinguish and divide 
A hair 'twixt south and south-west side ; 
On either which he would dispute, 
Confute, change hands, and still confute; 
He'd undertake to prove, by force 
Of argument, a man's no horse ; 
He'd prove a buzzard is no fowl, 
And that a lord may be an owl, 
A calf an alderman, a goose a justice, 
And rooks committee-men and trustees. 
He'd run in debt by disputation, 
And pay with ratiocination. 
All this by syllogism, true 
In mood and figure, he would do." 

Such acquirements were certainly not confined to 
Hudibras's party, nor even to his time. They were 
the treasures of the earlier schoolmen, inherited by the 
learned of all parties, and adopted alike by James 
himself, by the Abbots, by Bramhali the opponent of 
Hobbes, and others of the orthodox party. The litera- 



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[January 27, 1844. 



ture of the age was indeed essentially metaphysical, 
and Hudibras only resembled a crowd of others in that 
" He could reduce all things to acts, 

And knew their natures by abstracts ; 

Where entity and quiddity, 

The ghosts of defunct bodies, fly ; 

Where truth in person does appear, 

Like words congealM in northern air. 

He knew what's what, and that's as high 

As meiaphvsic wit can fly. 

* " « • * * 

He could raise scruples, dark and nice, 

And after solve them in a trice ; 

As if divinity had catch'd 

The itch, on purpose to be scratch'd 

Or like a mountebank, did wound 

And stab herself with doubts profound, 

Only to show with how small pain 

The sores of faith are cur'd again ; 

Altho* by woful proof we find 

They alwayi* leave a scar behind :" 
the last part of the extract containing a truth of uni- 
versal application. 

[To be continued.] 

Bees for the Poor.— Many people think the poor may be 
helped most by giving them small allotments of land. I think 
this may do much : and I will, whenever I am able, help on 
this plan. But much difficulty is often found in getting land, and 
I do not think it is so certain or to safe a Way of doing good as 
by giving a poor man a stock of bees, and then showing him how 
to take care of them, and to profit by them, for digging is thirsty 
work, and the beer-shop often stands hard by the allotment ; so, 
although the labourer, after his daily toil, may go by himself to 
his plot of ground, vet he is very likely to find one or two gar- 
deners, thirsty like himself, to walk toward home with him, but 
before they get there to drop into the beer-shop ; and, when once 
there, snugly seated in the chimney comer, neither I nor, what is 
worse, their poor wives, can tell when the v will get out of it. But 
a row of bees keeps a man at home ; all his sjsare moments may 
be well filled by tendiug them, by watching their wondrous ways, 
and by loving them. In winter he may work in his own 
chimney corner, at making hives both for himself and to sell. 
This he will find almost as profitable as his bees, for well-made 
hives always meet a ready sale. Again, his beehives are close 
to his cottage door • he will leam to like their sweet music better 
than the dry squeaking of a pot-house fiddle, and he may listen 
to it in the free open air, with his wife and children about him. 
They will be to him a countless family. He will be sure to 
love them if he cares for them, and they will love him too, and 
repay all his pains. — Cotton's Bee-Book. 

Chinese Shio- Building. — 'there is another device of the Chinese 
which is worthy of imitation, and considering the increased se- 
curity it offers to floating property, and the additional safety of 
the lives of navigators, it is surprising that it has not been adopted 
by Americans and Europeans — viz., the division of the holds of 
shins by water-tight partitions. The Chinese divide the holds of 
their sea vessels into about a doten distinct compartments with 
strong plank, and the seams are caulked with a cement composed 
of lime, oil, and the scrapings of bamboo. This composition 
renders them impervious to water, and is greatly preferable to 
pitch, tar, and tallow, since it is said to be incombustible. This 
division of their vessels seems to have been well experienced, for 
the practice is universal throughout the empire. Hence it some- 
times happens that one merchant has his goods safely conveyed 
in one division, while those of another suffer considerable da- 
mage from a leak in the compartment in which they were placed. 
A ship may strike against a rock, and yet not sink ; for the water 
entering by the fracture will be confined to the divisions where 
the injury occurs. To the adoption of a similar plan in Ku- 
ropeau or American merchantmen, besides the opposition of po- 
pular prejudice and the increased expense, an objection might 
arise from the reduction it would occasion in the quantity of 
freight, and the increased difficulty of stowing bulky articles. It 
re /n aim to be considered how far these objections ought to prevail 
against the greater security of the vessel, crew, ana cargo. At 
any rate, sueh objections do not apply to ships of war, in which 
to carry very heavy burdens is not an object of consideration. — 
Ewbank's Hydraulic Machinery. 



The Khan* of Syria.— Old Maundrell quaintly remarks, " It 
must be here noted, that in travelling this country a man does 
not meet with a market-town and inns every night, as in Eng- 
land ;" still, at certain intervals of his journey, the weary way- 
farer is always sure of falling in with one of these buildings, whose 
Erotecting walls at least serve to screen him from the scorching 
eat of the sun during the day, and from the heavy dews at 
night Sometimes, on a much-frequented road, an enterprising 
speculator will establish himself at one of these khans, and retail 
to the weary traveller a cup of coffee or a few refreshing whiffs 
of the bubbling narghili ; but flu* oftener not even this scanty 
fare is to be found ; and he who journeys in the East must often 
content himself, after fastening the barley-bag on his horse's nose, 
to cast himself down on a rug, eat a handful of dates, and court 
gentle sleep with the soothing chibouqUe, until the dawn of a 
succeeding day enables him to resume his journey. To the 
soi-disant traveller the rugged road, the Blow pace of the camel 
or tired steed, the «andy heat of the desert, or the hard floor of 
the 4 khan, 1 would present few attractions ; only the real travel- 
ler can enjoy a few such occasional privations.^— Cotomt Napier's 
Remmisctncts tf Syria. 

Causes of the Decline of Athens. — To the decliue of Athens 
peculiar causes contributed, which I may date from the begin- 
ning of the Peloponnesian war. The country being in possession 
of the enemy, a rural population was crowded into the city, and 
either thrown out of employment or engaged in pursuits that 
changed and did not improve their character. Then was the old 
farmer glad to earn hit few obols iri the Helissa; the stout 
yeoman became the sentinel of the garrison, or the sans-culotte of 
the Pirssus. Then came the plague, with all its demoralising 
effects j then the calamities of the war, and the intestine com- 
motions at its close. The wrongs suffered by the people during 
the interregnum of the oligarchy, and still more by the tyranny 
imposed by the Lacedaemonians, roused the vindictive feelings 
of their nature, and kept alive a restless mistrust and jealousy 
against all men whom, by reasoti of their Wealth, station, or 
talents, they suspected to be desirous of innovation. Peace and 
the Commonwealth were restored, but Athens was no longer the 
same. To recruit her population, thinned by the ravages of 
war, she had been compelled to naturalise a multitude of slaves 
and foreigners, whose admixture corrupted her blood, her man- 
ners, and her language. A love of shows, festivals, and idle 
pleasures impaired the courage and industry of the people. This 
led to the disuse of military service, and employment of mer- 
cenary troops ; the citizens remaining at home to receive fees 
and largesses. The Athenian never possessed the stern virtue of 
the ancient Roman ; still, he once had a proud spirit and a high 
sense of national honour. NoW his pride was lowered, his ener- 
gies enfeebled ; and, at the time to which I am carrying the 
reader, Athens tottered to her fall; Phocion despaired of his 
countrymen, and Demosthenes was unable to preserve them. — 
Kennedy's Demosthenes. 

Causes which ted to the belief in Alchemy.— 'the conduct of the 
scientific alchemists of the thirteenth, fourteenth, and fifteenth 
centuries presents a problem of very difficult solution. When 
we consider that a gas, a fluid, and a solid may consist of the 
very same ingredients in different proportions ; and a virulent 
poison may differ from the most wholesome food only in the 
difference of quantity of the very same elements ; that gold and 
silver, and lead and mercury, and indeed all the metals, may be 
extracted from transparent crystals, which Scarcely differ in their 
appearance' from a piece of common salt or a bit of sugar- 
caudy ; and that diamond is nothing more than charcoal — we 
need not greatly wonder at the extravagant expectation that the 
precious metals and the noblest gems might be produced from 
the basest materials. These expectations, too, must have been 
ofteu excited by the startling results of their daily experiments. 
The most ignorant compounder of simples could not tail to 
witness the magical transformations of chemical action; and 
every new product must have added to the probability that the 
tempting doublets of gold and silver might be thrown from the 
dice-box with which he was gambliug. But when the precious 
metals were found in lead and copper by the action of powerful 
re-agents, it was natural to suppose that they had been actually 
formed during the process; and men of well regulated minds 
even might have thus been led to embark in new adventure* to 
procure a more copious tupply, without any insult being offered 
to sober reason or any injury inflicted on sound morality. — 
Sir D. Brev'»ter's Martyrs of Science 



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A DAY AT THE YORKSHIRE WORSTED-FACTORIES. 



Our present " Visit" will partake somewhat of a ram- 
bling character. It has on a few occasions happened 
that, as a means of affording a little information con- 
cerning any particular branch of manufacture, we 
have found it desirable to extend our observations 
beyond the walls of one factory, and to glance round 
the circumstances and arrangements which give to an 
entire district the character of one great workshop. 
It is often only thus that the bearings and mutual de- 
pendence of different trades can be properly appre- 
ciated. The " Day at a Leeds Woollen-Factory ' - has 
enabled us to glance at the general operations con- 
nected with the manufacture of felted or fuUed wool ; 
and we will now see what the West Riding of York- 
shire exhibits in respect to the manufacture of worsted 
goods ; using the term worsted as applying to all wool 
which is not fulled after being woven. 

It is very probable that many of the woven fabrics 
now made into dresses, and called by various fanciful 
names, although really made only of worsted, or of 
worsted mixed with cotton, may not be generally 
known as coming under the denomination of worsted 
goods. The trade-list of a large worsted - factory 
at Halifax contains the following enumeration : — 
4 3-4 Lastings. 3-4 Fancy Lastings, 3-4 Crapes. 3-4 Serge, 
3-4 Orleans, 6-4 Orleans, Cassinets, 3-4 Twills, 3-4 Lin- 
ings, 4-4 Dobbies, 6-4 Dobbies, 6-4 French Figures, 
Alpaca, 3-4 Parisians, 6-4 Parisians, 3-4 Damasks, 
6-4 Damasks, 3-4 Camlets, 4-4 Camlets, 5-4 Camlets, 
6.4 Camlets, 5-4 Plainback, 6-4 Plainback, 7-4 Plain- 
back, 6-4 Merino, Say Plainback, 5-4 Says, 3-4 Prin- 
cettes.' Now all these goods are made either of 
worsted alone or of worsted mixed with cotton ; none 
of them having undergone that peculiar process of 
fulling which forms the chief characteristic of woollen 
goods. There are also numerous forms in which 



worsted fabrics (or others in which either silk or cot- 
ton is combined with worsted) are prepared for sale, 
not included in the above list; such are those called 
• Challis/ * Mousseline-de-laines/ ' Fancy Waistcoat- 
ings/ * Paramattas/ 4 Shalloons/ * Duroys, * Taminets/ 
j Calimancoes/ &c. If all the kinds were enumerated, 
it would probably be found that in some instances the 
fabrics have gone or are going out of date, and that in 
other instances two names refer to the same material ; 
thus,, * plainback ? is a manufacturer's appellation for a 
kind oi worsted stuff known by some other name by 
retail purchasers. There are two kinds of goods, in 
which worsted is mixed with silk, that afford remark- 
able instances of the tendency in manufactures to 
become located in particular districts ; * Poplins' being 
an Irish manufacture, and ' Bombazeens' a Norwich 
product, and neither of them being made to any con- 
siderable extent elsewhere. 

The rapid extension of the worsted manufacture in 
thir. country is very remarkable. So long as efforts 
were made by English wool-growers to compel the use 
of English wool in cloth-making — efforts which the 
legislature for many years sanctioned by legal enact- 
ments — the worsted fabrics made were chiefly of a 
coarse and heavy kind, such as * Camlets ;' but when 
the wool-trade was allowed to flow into its natural 
channels, by the removal of restrictions, the value Of 
all the different kinds of wool became appreciated, and 
each one was appropriated io purposes for which it 
seemed best fitted; foreign wool became mostly in 
demand for woollen-cloth, the wool of one kind of 
English sheep continued in demand for hosiery and 
heavy worsted goods, a fine long wool from a new 
breed of English sheep became sought after as a ma- 
terial for fine worsted goods, and the wool of the Cash- 
mere and Angora goats became imported for simi- 



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lar purposes. A glance at our exports will show how 
largely the production and sale of worsted goods have 
been increased under the operation of these circum- 
stances: for the exportation of worsted stuffs, which in 
1821 amounted to 828,824 pieces, rose by the year 
1841 to 1,718,617 pieces; while the mixed goods of 
worsted and cotton, which in 1821 were exported to 
the extent of 407,716 yards, rose by 1841 to 3,628,874 
yards. 

Formerly, the manufacture of cloth for sale had 
been exclusively confined to cities, and corporate and 
market towns, the inhabitants of the villages and 
hamlets making little more than sufficed for the use 
of their respective families. But the towns could 
now no longer exercise their domination over trades 
to its former extent; and a numerous body of in- 
dustrious men were gradually rising into importance 
who resided out of the towns, — " foreigners," as they 
are termed in the statutes, or " persons dwelling in 
the small towns of husbandrv." Many of them were 
husbandmen or graziers, wfco made their own wool 
into cloth, with the assistance of their wives and 
families. The sorting of wool was performed by 
women. The cloths made out of the towns were 
generally of a coarse description; and, if we may 
believe various authorities, the country clothiers were 
not very strict in maintaining the assize, which fixed 
the length and breadth of each piece. The condition 
of some of these manufacturers was humble enough. 
Many of them were only enabled to buy their wool in 
small quantities, as " eight pennyworth and twelve 
pennyworth at a time," and therefore could not make 
their purchases of the wool-grower. A statute, passed 
in 1551 and 1552, which prohibited wool being bought 
except by the persons intending to use it themselves 
in the manufacture of cloth, did away with the inter- 
mediate dealers in wool, whose existence was of 
essential importance to the small clothiers ; but it was 
eventually found necessary to make some relaxations 
on their account, so that wool might be bought by 
dealers and sold again in the open market. The 
cloth iers of Halifax were relieved from this incon- 
venience in 1555, by an Act enabling the inhabitants 
of that town " to buy wool, and retail it to poor folk 
to work, but not to the rich and wealthy, nor to sell 
again." The preamble of this statute describes, with 
considerable minuteness, the circumstances of the 
humbler class of country clothiers, and supplies 
details of some interest of the manner in which they 
carried on their trade. It recites that " the parish of 
Halifax and other places thereunto adjoining, being 
planted in the great wastes and moors, where the 
fertility of ground is not apt to bring forth any corn 
or good grass, but in rare places, and by exceeding 
and great industry of the inhabitants ; and the same 
inhabitants altogether do live by cloth-making, and 
the great part of them neither getteth corn, nor is able 
to keep a horse to carry wools, nor yet to buy much 
wool at once, but hath ever used only to repair to the 
town of Halifax, and some other nigh thereunto, and 
there to buy upon the wool-driver, some a stone, some 
two, and some three or four, according to their ability, 
and to carry the same to their houses, some three, 
four, five, and six miles off, upon their heads and 
backs, and so to make and convert the same either 
into yarn or cloth, and to sell the same, and so to buy 
more wool of the wool-driver; by means of which 
industry the barren grounds in those parts be now 
much inhabited, and above five hundred households 
there newly increased within this forty years past, 
which now are like to be undone and driven to beggary, 
by reason of the late statute made that taketh away 
the wool-driver, so that they cannot now have their 
wool by such small portions as they were wont to have ; 



and that also they are not able to keep any horses 
whereupon to ride or set their wools farther from 
them in other places, unless some remedy may be 
provided." 

At a later period Flemish clothiers were invited 
over, many ol whom are supposed to have settled 
at Halifax; and there is said to be, even to the 
present day, a strong resemblance between the dialect 
of the labouring classes there and at Friesland in Hol- 
land, — a resemblance which lias given rise to the fol- 
lowing rather odd distich • — 

" Gooid brade, hotter, and cheese, 
Is gooid Halifax, and gooid Friese." 

The introduction of these Flemish clothiers into 
England is detailed by Fuller, in his • Church History * 
(1655), in a very quaint manner. He justifies his enter- 
ing on such topics in a work apparently unsuited for 
them, on the plea that they " reductively belong to the 
4 Church History,' seeing many poore people, both 
young and old, formerly charging their parishes, were 
thereby enabled to maintain themselves." After ex- 
pressing strong contempt for the skill of the clothiers 
before Edward III.'s time, as " knowing no more what 
to do with their wooll than the sheep that weare it, as 
to any artificial and curious drapery, their best cloth 
being no better than freeze, such their coarseness for 
want of skill in their making ;" Fuller proceeds to 
state that on the marriage of King Edward to the 
daughter of the Earl of Hainault, the intercourse be- 
tween England and the Netherlands being thereby 
greatly increased, the king had facilities for introduc- 
ing Flemish clothiers into England. Fuller, on what 
authority he does not say, states that the Flemish 
clothiers used their workmen and apprentices •• rather 
like heathens than Christians, yea, rather like horses 
than men, early up and late in bed, and all day hard 
work, and harder fare (a few herrings and mouldy 
cheese)." He then contrasts the bright prospect whicli 
opened on these ill-used operatives : — •• But, oh ! how 
happy should they be, if they would but come over to 
England, bringing their mystery with them, which 
would provide them welcome in all places. Here they 
should feed on fat beef and mutton, till nothing but 
their fulnesse should stint their stomachs ; yea, they 
should feed on the labours of their own hands, enjoy- 
ing a proportionable profit of their gains to themselves; 
their beds should be good, and their bed-fellows better, 
seeing that the richest yeomen in England would not 
disdain to marry their daughters to them, and such 
English beauties, that the most curious foreigners 
could not but commend them." The result of this im- 
migration he narrates in no less glowing colours:-— 
*• Happy the yeoman's house in which one of these 
Dutchmen did enter, bringing industry and wealth 
along with them. Such as came in strangers within 
doors, soon after went out as bridegrooms and returned 
sons-in-law, having married the daughters of their 
landlords who first entertained them ; yea, those yeo- 
men in whose houses they harboured, soon proceeded 
gentlemen, gaining them estates to themselves, arms 
and worship to their estates." 

Whether or not this golden picture is to be accepted 
with implicit faith, it is certain that the use of English 
wool in home manufactures became from that time 
more and more extensive, Halifax being at first the 
centre of the Yorkshire product, and the division not 
being then so much marked as now between worsted 
and woollen goods. 

If we station ourselves at Bradford, as a centre, we 
shall find that our position is in the heart of the cloth- 
ing districts; a number of busy towns and villages, 
almost too numerous to specify, lying on all sides of us, 
and all occupied chiefly by cloth and stuff makers. 



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Bradford lies at the junction of three fine v a] leva, 
having the important towns of Leeds, Wakefield, 
Dewsbury, Huddersfield, Halifax, and Keighley 
almost equidistant from it. This is one of the many 
towns which, when approached just after dark on a 
winter's evening; present that curious species of illu- 
mination resulting from the countless windows of 
large factories. Five, six, seven stories of such win- 
dows are to he seen, extending to great width, and 
each throwing out its glare from the gas-lights within 
the lonp rooms or galleries of the factory. Those who, 
by residing in an agricultural county, or even in 
London, are not accustomed to such a sight, can 
scarcely form an idea of the singular effect which 
these symmetrical specks of light produce when 
viewed in the aggregate from a distance. The recent 
extension of the worsted manufacture has done great 
things for Bradford ; it may now he deemed the centre 
of the worsted trade, inasmuch as there is more 
worsted yarn spun here than at any other town in the 
kingdom. Not only, indeed, do many of the worsted 
and stuff manufacturers of other towns in the West 
Riding procure their yarn from Bradford, but even 
the shawl-weavers of Paisley do the same; and we 
believe that many of the bom bazeen - weavers of 
Norwich are beginning to act on the same plan. The 
abundance of cheap coal, the vicinity of numerous 
towns where worsted yarn is required, and easy com- 
munication with nearly all the great towns in the 
kingdom, are probably the causes to which we may 
attribute the formation of this flourishing state of 
things. There are at present more than one hundred 
firms at Bradford carrying on the occupation of 
worsted-spinners; some combining with it that of 
stuff-manufacturer*. This congregation of worsted- 
spinners requires that a large and constant supply of 
wool should be at hand; and thus wool-staplers or 
wool-dealers have settled at Bradford. Then, again, 
the large supply of wool thus procured having made 
Bradford a kind of market, the spinners from other 
towns have cone thither to make their purchases; this 
in its turn has induced other woolstaplers to locate 
there ; until at length by these successive steps Brad- 
ford has become the great wool-market of England, to 
which attention is always directed by those concerned 
in the price, Quality, supply, and demand of wool. 
These woolstaplers make very large purchases of wool, 
not only from the English sheep-farmers, but from 
Prince Esterhazy and from other extensive wool- 
growers all over the world. There is a ' Stuff-Hall ' in 
the town, consisting of a spacious building one hun- 
dred and forty-four feet long by thirty-six broad, and 
two stories in height, in which manufactured stuff 
goods are exposed for sale on market-days. 

If we next go in a north-west direction from Brad- 
ford to Keightey, we pass through numerous clothing 
villages scattered along the ten miles of road, and 
come to a town of rising importance, which serves as 
a centre to many of these villages. There is a con- 
siderable number of worsted mills in Keighley parish, 
and numerous hand-loom weavers, working on wool- 
lens, linseys, and worsteds. Keighley, however, does 
not rank with Bradford or Halifax; for instead of 
having a cloth or piece hall of its own, its productions 
are sent to one or other of those two towns for sale at 
the piece-halls, and often pass through the hands of the 
Leeds merchants to the foreign customers. 

Turning to the south-west of Bradford, we find 
Halifax, at a distance of seven or eight miles, a town 
more closely connected with clothing manufactures in 
early times than any other in Yorkshire. Its situation 
and appearance are very remarkable. It is placed on 
the western declivity of a gentle eminence ; but being 
surrounded by hills of considerable elevation, it ap- 



pears, on approaching it, to stand in a deep valley. The 
road from Bradford is a succession of hill and valley ; 
and a traveller sees nothing of Halifax until he sur- 
mounts the hill at its eastern margin, when the whole 
town becomes suddenly mapped out before him in a 
valley beneath, with factory chimneys shooting up in 
every direction. A river runs through the town at the 
bottom of the hollow, and is so hemmed in by factories 
on both sides, that we can scarcely see either the width 
of the stream or the colour of its waters. At Halifax 
we find the two great divisions of woollen and worsted 
manufactures more equally divided than at any other 
of the clothing towns. There are woollen cloth ma- 
nufacturers, woollen and worsted printers, woolstaplers, 
worsted spinners, stuff manufacturers having factories 
in the town, and stuff manufacturers who only attend 
the Piece-Hall on market-days. This Piece-Hall is 
the finest in the kingdom. It is a large freestone 
edifice, occupying an area of ten thousand square 
yards, and divided into three hundred and fifteen 
apartments, where the goods are exposed for sale. 
Tnere have been frequently fifty thousand pounds 
worth of woollen and worsted goods exposed here for 
sale at once ; but it is understood that the factory 
system of production is gradually lessening the 
amount of sales effected at the Hall. The kind of 
worsted stuff called shalloon has been a great staple at 
Halifax, it having been computed some years ago that 
ten thousand pieces of this material were annually 
made there, mostly for Turkey and the Levant. 

Huddersfield is about as far from Halifax as Halifax 
is from Bradford, and is, like it, a busy clothing town, 
and the centre of a cluster of clothing villages. It is 
at Huddersfield that we may look, more perhaps than 
at any town except Bradford, for evidence illustrating 
the recent spread of the worsted manufacture. Al- 
though there is a large number of firms there engaged 
in the woollen cloth manufacture, just as at Leeds, and 
although the Piece-Hall affords a market to a great 
extent of clothing district around, yet • fancy goods' 
may be deemed the chief feature presented by the 
Huddersfield manufactories at present. These fancy 
goods are such as are termed * waistcoatings,' and the 
like, or fabrics of worsted, worsted and cotton, or 
worsted and silk, in which there is a pattern of some 
kind or other worked by the loom, different coloured 
yarns being employed. There is an astonishing num- 
ber of firms at Huddersfield engaged in this kind of 
fancy-worsted work, besides a still larger number, 
residing chiefly at Honley and other towns and vil- 
lages in the vicinity, who only attend Huddersfield 
market on Tuesdays. When it is considered that 
Huddersfield was very insignificant both in trade and 
population until the beginning of the last century, its 
present position appears the more striking, and is 
principally to be traced, like that of Halifax, to its 
admirable local advantages. The Piece-Hall is a re- 
markable building, being an extensive circular range, 
two stories high, with a diametrical range one story 
high, dividing the internal area into two semicircles. 
The light is wholly admitted from within, there being 
no windows on the outside ; and it thus partakes 
somewhat of the character of the caravanserais of the 
East. The hall is subdivided into streets, which streets 
consist of rows of stalls, such as in the two cloth- • 
halls at Leeds; and six hundred country manufac- 
turers requently attend here on market-day. 

If we go westward from Huddersfield to Saddle- 
worth, Rochdale, or any of the towns and villages in 
that vicinity, we find manufactures to be in a curious 
position with respect to the two great staples, wool and 
cotton. Lancashire may be termed a cotton county, 
Yorkshire a woollen county; and the towns here 
named, being near the borders of the two counties, 

o 



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present a mingled assemblage of these two departments 
of productive industry. Thus at Saddleworth there 
are cotton manufacturers, cotton spinners* cotton waste 
dealers, and others, connected with the one depart- 
ment ; and woollen cloth manufacturers, woollen cloth 
printers, woollen millers* wool-staplers, cloth-dressers, 
and flannel manufacturers* connected with the other. 
At Rochdale, again, there are the two kinds ; but here 
a remarkable dhTerence is observable, for which it 
does not seem very easy to account. Although Roch- 
dale is not far from Saddleworth, and both have cotton 
factories of various kinds, yet in respect to wool, Saddle- 
worth is almost wholly limited to woollen cloth, while 
Rochdale is chiefly distinguished for flannels and 
baizes. So singularly has this last-named manufacture 
settled at Rochdale, that there are nearly a hundred 
and fifty " manufacturers of flannel and baize " iti the 
town ; and it has become the centre whence all the 
home and foreign markets are supplied with Yorkshire 
flannels. 

Eastward of Huddersfield we meet with two towns 
which present yet another feature of the clothing dis- 
trict, viz. the manufacture of blanket*. These articles, 
in many details of their manufacture, are distinct from 
the flannels of Rochdale, the stuffs of Halifax, the 
fancy-goods of Huddersfield; or the cloths of Leeds ; 
and their production and sale have gradually centred 
at a particular spot. Dewsbury and Heckmondwike 
are tne two towns here alluded to, both lying in the 
road from Halifax to Wakefield. Nearly all the manu- 
facturers in these two towns ate engaged in the 
blanket-trade; and there is also a ' Blanket-Hall' at 
the latter place, where the Leeds merchants make their 
purchases for the home and foreign markets. 

When we have touched at Wakefield, and gone 
thence northward to Leeds, we shall have made the 
tour of the very remarkable •• clothing district" of the 
West Riding. Wakefield, considered as a clothing 
town, has fallen from its once high position : it has 
been superseded by other towns. Leeds, Halifax, and 
Wakefield were once the three great centres : the two 
former still retain their eminence ; while Wakefield 
has given way, and Bradford and Huddersfield have 
risen to distinction. Jn Leland's time we are told that 
" Wakefield Btandeth now al by clothying ;" and at a 
later period woollen cloth, stuff goods, and worsted 
yarn were the main products of the place ; but now, 
although there are still woollen and stuff manufac- 
turers in the town, the number of them bears but ft 
small proportion to those in the other towns we ha?e 
named. The wool-market, too, is gradually leaving 
Wakefield for Bradford. Wakefield, on the other hand! 
has greatly risen as an emporium for the corn and 
malt trade, and also as a cattle and sheep market ; so 
that the prosperity of the town has not declined, it 
has merely taken a different direction. 

We have thought it desirable to give this rapid 
sketch of the clothing district generally; for the 
worsted manufacture, taken in its widest sense, cannot 
be understood without noticing the subdivisions to 
which it is subjected, and the tendency which each 
branch has to centre itself in some particular spot. 
There is a feature observable, too, in this district, which 
we do not remember to have seen noticed by any writer ; 
* that is, the prevalence of particular noma among the 
manufacturers. The domestic system of manufac- 
turing, which was for many generations the one fol- 
lowed in Yorkshire, led naturally to children being 
brought up to the same occupation as that pursued by 
their parents. There were many parts of the process 
which boys could perform, and these boys thus learned 
by degrees the trade of their parents, especially when 
all this was done under the lather's roof. Added to 
this* a certain fixity of habits and tastes, the absence 



of a tendency to roam* has caused the same family to 
remain in the same Spot for one generation after an- 
other. Whether we navfe rightly explained the cause, 
it is certain that this recurrence of names among the 
manufacturers is very observable. If we take that 
cufloUs reeord of personal statistics, a * Directory ' of 
Yorkshire, we shall have the means of testing this. 
Frbm such a volume, published a few years ago, it 
will be perceived that there is hardly a town in the 
clothing district which has not got its Akroyd, Ack- 
roydj or Akeroyd, among the woollen or worsted manu- 
facturers, the name being Bpelt in all three different 
wavs. Among the woollen manufacturers at Hudders- 
field are seven Croslands, six Crowthers, seven Haighs, 
six Schofields* eleven Shaws, eleven Sykoses, and so 
forth. At Saddleworth it is yet more remarkable ; for 
here there are recorded, as distinct manufacturers of 
woollen cloth, six Bottomleys* fifteen Bradburys, seven- 
teen Broadbents, thirteen Buckleys, seven Kenworthys, 
eight Rhodes, eleven Schofields, eleven Shaws, eleven 
Whiteheads, and nine Wrigleys. Similar repetitions 
of the names Ash worth, ButterwoTth, Clegg, Schorl eld, 
and Whitworth occur among the flannel manufacturers 
at Rochdale j as also those of Bailey* Blakeley, Brear- 
Jey, Day, Hirst, Newsome, Senior, and Sheard, among 
the drugget manufacturers of Dewsbury ; and of other 
names among the blanket manufacturers of Dewsbury 
and Heckmondwike. It is not unworthy of remark 
that these recurrences of similar names are not nearly 
so much observable among the worsted as the woollen 
manufacturers* the latter having been more associated 
than the former with the domestic system of manufac- 
turing. 

Whatever be the kind of worsted fabric about to be 
manufactured— and that there are many such, our list 
on a former page will sufficiently indicate — the wool is 
first brought into the State of worsted yarn ; and we 
may now shortly describe the mode in which this is 
effected, so far as that differs from the spinning of the 
woollen yam described in our November Supplement. 

The wool employed for worsted is always longer 
than for |felted woollens, and generally coarser ; and 
the processes which it undergoes, so far from being 
calculated to make the individual fibres lock into each 
other by the little serrations on their surfaces, are in- 
tended to facilitate the production of a fine, even, and 
smoothly spun thread. Indeed it is one object of the 
processes preparatory to the spinning to impair the 
felting poperty of the wool. 

The Wool is very carefully washed before being fitted 
for worsted work. The washing is effected with soap 
and water, the greater part of the moisture being after- 
Wards pressed out by rollers. The wool, after washing, 
is earned to a drying-room, where it is spread out on 
the floor to dry. In most modern factories or mills 
where wool is thus prepared, matters are so arranged 
that the drying-room shall be immediately over the 
boiler-room belonging to the steairi-engine ; so that 
the heat of this lower room, which would otherwise be 
wasted, is usefully employed in imparting warmth to 
the drying-room. When the wool is dried, it is passed 
through a machine called a ptueker, consisting of a 
pair of spiked rollers fed by ah endless apron. By the 
revolving spikes of this machine the fibres of the wool 
are cleansed and straightened, preparatory to the next 
process. This • plucker ' is generally attended, or 
1 tented/ to use a factory phrase, by a* boy of twelve or 
fourteen years of age, whose business is to lay the tufts 
of wool pretty evenly on the endless web or apron 
which acts as a feeding-cloth. 

The wool is next ready for curding, or combing, ac- 
cording to the fineness and quality of the worsted to 
be made from it. The process of combing the wool is 
sometimes performed with apparatus so simple, that 



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37 



the workman can carry it on At his own house ; while 
at other times it involves the complexity of factory 
machinery. A very large quantity of the wool used 
around Halifax and Bradford is hand-combed ; indeed, 
all the wool-combing machines yet invented are said 
to have failed in respect to the working of fine worsted, 
although they are well adapted for tne coarser qua- 
lities. The nand-comb consists chiefly of a piece of 
wood shaped something like the letter T. Through 
the head or transverse part of it, which is generally 
about three inches broad, a number of very long sharp 
teeth are thrust. These teeth, which are made of 
well-tempered steel, aie finely tapered, and are gene- 
rally arranged in three rows, about thirty in each, 
placed nearly at right angles to the face of the wood. 
The angle of the comb is represented by the perpendi- 
cular part of the T, as in the annexed cut, where b 
are the teeth, c the head or stock into which they are 
fixed, and d the handle. In using this instrument, the 
wool is carefully hung upon the teeth, in such a man- 
ner as to project over the front of the head, and when 
sufficiently filled and firmly fixed, another comb of the 





same kind is drawH thrtitigji t fit* wool, so as to unravel 
and lay all the fibres shibbth Arid even. Mr. Luccock, 
while describing this tiftjeess, itjitly remarks : •' If we 
consider the full comb A the human head, disgraced 
by a quantity of neglected; Idhg, and dishevelled hair, 
which we reduce to its elegatit order, we shall have a 



very just idea of the operation and use of this instru- 
ment in the worsted manufacture. The very name 
shows its origin, application, and use." This process 
of hand-combing is very laborious, and is generally 
carried oh in rooms which are close and hot, arising 
from the presence of stoves for heating the combs, fi 
tbe combs were cold when used, the woolly filaments 
would not acquire the necessary pliancy and ductility, 
and the teeth of the comb are therefore heated in a 
stove. The stove usually consists of a flat iron plate, 
heated by fire or by steam, and surmounted by another 

Elate to confine the heat; and into the small space left 
etwee n the two plates the teeth of the comb are in- 
troduced. A considerable quantity of oil is employed 
in the combing process, and this renders the process 
rather a dirty one. There is a kind of knotted por- 
tion of all the fibres left uncombed, on account of the 
teeth of the comb not being able to reach it: and 
this, under the name of noyl or noil, is afterwards 
carded and spun into coarse woollen yarn. 

Dr. Cartwriyht, whose mechanical inventions have 
been recorded in tbe recently published • Memoirs ' of 
that ingenious man, invented a machine for combing 
wool ; and since his time many others have been in- 
vented, of which one consists mainly of two large 
wheels, ten feet in diameter, having teeth at their pe- 
ripheries so placed as to comb out the wool. When- 
ever such machines are used, the wool leaves them in 
the form of a continuous sitter or riband. 

Considerable change has recently been introduced 
into the worsted trade by the substitution of carding 
for combing the wool. In this instance the fibres of 
wool are straightened and laid parallel, somewhat in 
the same way as the cotton in cotton-carding, fiy this 
mode of proceeding, the noyl of long fleece-wool and a 
great deal of skin-wool, which used to be employed 
only in blanket and coarse woollen work, can now be 
worked up into coarse worsted yarn ; and the price 
has been so lessened by the change, that nearly all 



[Drawing the Wonted into Sliver*.] 



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[January, 1844. 



coarse worsted yarn is now produced by carding. Mr. 
Bischoff, in his * History of the Wool-Trade/ mentions 
a circumstance connected with the origin of this im- 
provement, which shows the imperfect state of our 
present patent-laws : — "The application of the cotton 
process was patented by Mr. William Lister of Halifax. 
A somewhat similar plan was also about the same time 
adopted by Messrs. Haddens of Aberdeen ; both parties 
considered their individual patents invaded, and even- 
tually brought actions against each other, the result of 
whicti was, that both were thrown open to the public 
on the same day, whereby the patentees were never 
able to realize the fruits of their industry.*' The pro- 
cess of carding is one of those that have led to the vast 
increase in the production of worsted goods within the 
last few years : for wool to be hand-combed must have 
not less than six inches length of fibre, whereas card- 
ing can be applied to the noyl and all the short fibres. 
The system of sheep-farming, too, recently followed, 
has had the effect of giving to the English fleece very 
long wool, so that all the wool now grown in England 
can be spun into worsted yarn of one kind or other ; 
while the woollen-cloth manufacturer is well content 
to have his supply of felting wool from foreign sources 
— circumstances which, combined, have placed the 
wool-trade on a more healthy footing perhaps than at 
any former period. 

The chain of processes whereby the fibres of wool 
are wrought up into worsted yarn, occupies a medium 
place between the preparation of cotton yarn and 
of woollen yarn ; it partakes of both, and is yet some- 
what different from either. A very brief sketch of 
these processes will here suffice, after what has been 
given in former numbers. 

In the large establishment of Messrs. Akroyd, at 
Halifax — one, indeed, among several establishments 
owned by the same firm in and near that town — we 
witnessed the process of worsted manufacture, not 
from the commencement, but from the state of * sliver.' 
The worsted prepared being generally for the finer 
fabrics, the hand-combing process is still the one ge- 
nerally employed ; and this being what we may term a 
domestic process, or a species of handicraft, may be 
carried on at the houses of the workmen. The number 
of workmen so employed in and around Halifax and 
Bradford is very large, the firm above mentioned 
giving employment, in brisk times, to several hundreds 
of tnem. 

The wool comes to the factory in narrow bundles or 

• tops,' about eighteen inches long, and weighing 
about a pound and a half or two pounds each. These 

• tops ' are taken to one of the upper rooms of the fac- 
tory, filled with the machines for * drawing' and other- 
wise preparing the worsted ; such as are represented in 
the cut on the preceding page. Each top is first opened, 
and Hie wool laid upon an endless band, which carries 
it between drawing-rollers, whereby it is elongated, 
ranged parallel, and conveyed into a cylindrical can 
as a delicate kind of riband. This riband is transferred 
from one machine to another, and drawn between 
rollers so repeatedly, that, like the rod of metal in wire- 
drawing, it becomes gradually reduced in thickness, 
until it assumes the form of fine cord, or 'roving,' 
ready for the spinning-frames. 

The spinning is effected in a different range of work- 
shops, but by machines analogous in principle to those 
employed in other branches of textile manufacture. 
The quality of the yarn produced, and the mode of spin- 
ning it, depend of course on the purpose to which it is 
to be applied. Thus, for ' mousseline-de-laine,' or for 

• challis, a fine and soft worsted yarn is required ; 
whereas for * camlet,' and other stout goods, a stronger 
and thicker yarn is essential. The warp, too, of almost 
all kinds of goods is made from yarn rather different 



from that employed in the weft. It has been made a 
matter of calculation among the spinners at the factory 
above noticed, that they spin enough 'weft' yarn every 
day to reach from London to New Zealand. In one of 
the lower warehouses of the factory, we saw vast piles 
of the yarn thus prepared, made up into bundles, and 
ready to be used by the weavers within the same factory, 
or for sale to otiier manufacturers. There are dye- 
works belonging to the firm in another part of Halifax, 
where the worsted is dyed before or after weaving, 
according to the nature of the fabric; and there is also 
a process of warp-scouring effected in a certain stage 
of the manufacture. 

Some parts of the processes connected with the spin- 
ning require that the worsted shall be in a damp state. 
This is effected in a curious manner. In one of the 
rooms of the factory are a number of tin boxes, per- 
forated on all sides. The wool is put in to these boxes, 
and the boxes themselves are . placed in a large chest 
connected with the receiver of an air-pump. The air is 
exhausted from the chest, which necessarily involves 



[Warp-Seouring.] 

the exhaustion of the air from between the fibres of 
wool contained in the perforated boxes. Water is next 
admitted, and then the air is re-admitted, by which the 
water is instantly forced between all the fibres, so as to 
saturate every individual fibre equably and completely. 

All the processes incident to the arrangement of 
the yarn for the loom are carried on in the usual 
way ; such as the ' warping,' the * beaming,' and the 
' drawing-in' of the warp, and the ' winding' of the 
weft. It is, however, worthy of remark, that modern 
improvements have been introduced for spinning weft 
on the very 'spools' which are afterwards to be used 
in the shuttles, so as to get rid of the after-process of 
* winding.' 

We next descend to the ' weaving-shed,'--a building 
not only the most remarkable connected with the fac- 
tory, but one whick is particularly calculated to illus- 
trate the rapid progress made in the worsted manufac- 
ture within the last few years. Here we find eight hun- 
dred and forty power-looms in one room, all working 
at once in the production of merinos, damasks, cam- 
lets, lastings, Paramattas, Orleans, Parisians, cassinets, 
and the host of worsted or stuff goods now made. But 
this is not the only observable featurt. There are cotton 



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[« Drawing in • the Worsted Warp for Weaving.] 

factories in Lancashire and Cheshire which can boast 
of a yet larger number of power-looms, amounting in 
some instances to fifteen hundred ; but in such cases 
the weaving is nearly always of a simple kind, consist- 
ing of plain fabrics, such as calico or twills, figured 
devices, if introduced at all, being very sparingly 
effected by the power-loom. In worsted weaving, 
however, the application of the power-loom has been 
most remarkable ; and there is an observation on this 
point in Mr. BischofTs f History ' which may be appro- 
priately introduced here. After speaking of the use 
of the Jacquard machine in silk weaving, Mr. B. 
remarks : — " Until the introduction of this machine, 
the production of the superior figured silks depended 
wholly on the skill of the weaver, and that to a degree 
which few attained ; the necessity of extreme careful- 
ness and skill is now considerably diminished ; in 
other words, the production of the most costly fabrics 
is laid open to a large number of operatives. The 
Jacquard engine may be attached to almost any loom, 
and is generally owned by the manufacturer, and is fur- 
nished to the weaver with the warp. These looms were 
introduced into Yorkshire in the weaving of figured 
and flowered stuff's, by the late Mr. James Akroyd, 
of Halifax. The manufacture of moreens was also 
brought there by him and his brother, Mr. Jonathan 
Akroyd ; they next imitated the article of cotton 
jeans, in worsted, with success, to which they gave 
the name of * plainbacks,' out of which has sprung 
that immense and valuable branch of * merinos/ They 
also introduced the mode of weaving stuff damasks, 
and were the first to use the Jacquard engine in York- 
shire." The allusion here to the custom followed be- 
tween the manufacturer and the Jacquard-weaver 
relates to hand-loom weaving only, power-weaving 
being conducted wholly and necessarily on the factory 
system. In the magnificent room where these eight 
hundred and forty power-looms are at work (for it 
may be called magnificent in relation to the mind, 
the mechanism, and the capital there represented), 
are looms producing almost every variety of complex 



texture known to the weaver. In some there are no 
fewer than thirty-two * heddles,' or systems of strings 
by which the warp-threads are drawn up to admit the 
shuttle, and yet all are worked by steam-power ; one 
person, generally a female, being required merely to 
tend the machine and make a few adjustments, the 
steam-engine doing all the work. In other instances 
the exquisite "Jacquard" machine, one of the most 
complete of all mechanical inventions, is fitted to the 
top of the loom, where it regulates the raising of the 
warp-threads so as to lead to the production of figures 
having almost an exhaustless variety of size and 
form. 

We have in two or three former papers had to speak 
of the Jacquard machine as being in use in textile 
manufactures ; but we have not described the mode in 
which the cards are made. These cards are slips of 

fmsteboard (or sometimes of tin) from one to two feet in 
ength, and two or three inches wide, each card per- 
forated with a great number of holes about a quarter 
of an inch in diameter. For the production of any 
particular pattern there must be as many cards as 
there are weft threads in the pattern ; for instance, if 
the pattern consisted of a flower, the full space of 
which occupied two hundred weft threads, or required 
that number of weft threadsto represent it, then there 
must be two hundred cards prepared for that one 
pattern, all of the same size, and all pierced with holes. 
But the holes thus pierced are not alike in number in 
the different cards; in some there may be twenty 
holes, in some fifty, and in others a number greater or 
smaller than either of these ; and the determination of 
these numbers is a very singular part of the arrange- 
ment. The pattern is drawn on a piece of paper in- 
tersected by mack cross-lines, to represent the warp 
and weft threads. A man or boy has before him a row 
of strings to represent some of the warp threads, and 
into and among these he passes a cross-thread to re- 
present one row of weft, passing it above and below 
according to the pattern. By this means he divides 
his imitative warp-threads into two parcels, analogous 
to the raised and depressed portions of the real warp 
when in the loom ; and these two portions are so far 
represented on the punched cards, that the raised 
warp threads are connected with the holes in the 
cards, while the depressed threads are connected with 
blanks or uncut parts of the card. The boy's row of 
threads are attacked to an ingenious machine, whereby 
several punches are passed through holes in a leaden 
plate, the number and disposition of the holes depend- 
ing on the pattern ; and a piece of cardboard oeing 
then placed beneath these punches, a machine some- 
thing like a cylinder-press presses all the punches 
upon the cardboard, and punches the holes. The best 
description we have seen of the process of Jacquard 
card-making is by Mr. Porter, in his ' Treatise on the 
Silk Manufacture ;' but we have not room to give 
details at greater length : suffice it to say, that the 
disposition of the holes in each card depends prin- 
cipally on the nature and size of the pattern in the 
direction of the weft ; that the number of cards de- 
pends on the pattern in the direction of the warp ; 
that the cards for one pattern frequently amount to 
four, six, or eight hundred ; that all are connected in 
an endless chain when attached to the loom, and that 
each set of cards will be available for one pattern only. 
Adjoining the card-making room, at the factory, is a 
room where the pattern cards are preserved, each set 
tied up in a bundle, and numbered for future use. 
An instance was once afforded at this establishment, 
probably as a trial of skill in fancy worsted weaving, 
in which the enormous number of eleven thousand 
cards were used in producing one pattern. What has 
been the highest number ever employed with the 



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[Th« Prestation in the Tempi*, after P. FrancU.] 



ESSAYS ON THE LIVES OF REMARKABLE 
PAINTERS.-N0. XXI. 

Francesco Raibolini, called II Francia. 
Thus existed throughout the fourteenth and fifteenth 
centuries a succession of painters in Bologna, known 
in the history of Italian art as the early Bolognese 
school, to distinguish it from the later school, which the 
Carracci founded in the same city — a school altogether 
dissimilar in spirit and feeling. The chief characte- 
ristic of the former was the fervent piety and devotion 
of its professors. In the sentiment ol their works they 
resembled the Umbrian school, but the manner of exe- 
cution is different. One of these early painters, Lippo 
(or Filippo) di Dalmasio, was so celebrated for the 
beauty of his Madonnas, that he obtained the name of 
Lippo dalle Madonne. He greatly resembled the Frate 
Angelico in life and character, but was inferior as an 
artist. To his heads of the Virgin he gave an expres- 
sion of saintly beauty, purity, and tenderness, which 
two hundred years later excited the admiration and 
emulation of Guido. Lippo died about 1409. Passing 
over some other names, we come to that of the greatest 



no 760. 



painter of the early Bologna school, Francesco Rai 

BOLINI. 

He was born in 1450 ; being just four years younger 
than his contemporary Perugino. Like many other 
painters of that age, already mentioned, he was edu- 
cated for a goldsmith, and learned to design and model 
correctly. Francesco's master in the arts of working 
in gold and niello* was a certain Francia, whose name, 
in affectionate gratitude to his memory, he afterwards 
adopted, signed it on his pictures, and is better known 
by it than by his own family name. Up to the age of 
forty, Francesco Francia pursued his avocation of 

foldsmith, and became celebrated for the excellence of 
is workmanship in chasing gold and silver, and the 
exquisite beauty and taste of his niellos. He also ex- 
celled in engraving (lies for coins and medals, and was 
appointed superintendent of the mint in his native city 
of Bologna, which office he held till his death. 

We are not told how the attention of Francia was 

first directed to the art of painting. It is said that the 

sight of a beautiful picture by Perugino awakened the 

* For an account of the art of working in niello, and the in 

vention to which it led, see ante, vol. xii., p. 437. 

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TFeBBUARY 3, 



dormant talent ; that lie learned drawing from Marco 
Zoppo, one of the numerous pupils of Squarcione, and 
that for many months he entertained in his house cer- 
tain artists who initiated him into the use of colours, &c. 
However this may be, his earliest picture is dated 
1490, when he was in his fortieth year. It exists at 
present in the gallery at Bologna, and represents his 
favourite subject, so often repeated, a lVladonna and 
Child, enthroned, and surrounded by saints and martyrs. 
This picture, which, if it be a first production, may 
well be termed wonderful as well as beautiful, excited 
so much admiration, that Giovanni Bentivoglio, then 
lord of Bologna, desired him to paint an altar-piece 
for his family chapel in the church of San Giacomo. 
This second essay of his powers excited in the strongest 
degree the enthusiasm of his fellow-citizens. The peo- 
ple of Bologna were distinguished among the other 
states of Italy for their patronage of native talent ; they 
now exulted in having produced an artist who might 
vie with those of Florence, or Perugia, or Venice. 

The vocation of Francia was henceforth determined : 
he abandoned his former employment of goldsmith and 
niello-worker, and became a painter by choice and by 
profession. During the next ten yeaTS he improved pro- 
gressively in composition and in colour, still retaining 
the simple and beautiful sentiment which had from the 
first distinguished his works. His earliest pictures are 
in oil ; but his success encouraged him to attempt 
fresco, and in this style, which required a grandeur of 
conception, and a breadth and rapidity of execution for 
which his laborious and diminutive works in gold and 
niello could never have prepared his mind or hand, he 
appears to have succeeded at once. He was first em- 
ployed by Bentivoglio to decorate one of the chambers 
in his palace with the story of Judith and Holophernes ; 
and he afterwards executed in the chapel of St. Cecilia 
a series of frescoes from the lrgendof that saint. " The 
composition/' saysKugler, " is extremely simple; with- 
out any superfluous figures ; the action dramatic and 
well conceived. We have here the most noble figures, 
the most beautiful and graceful heads, a pure taste in 
the drapery, and masterly backgrounds. It should 
seem that nothing more than the merits here enume- 
rated is required .to constitute perfection : unhappily 
these fine specimens of Francia s art are falling into 
ruin and decay. 

The style of Francia at his best period is very dis- 
tinct from that of Perugino, whom ne resembles how- 
ever so far as to show that the features of the latter 
were the first objects of his emulation and imitation. 
In the works of Perugino there is a melancholy verg- 
ing frequently on sourness and harshness, or fading 
into insipidity. Francia in his richer and deeper 
colouring, his ampler forms* and. the cheerful, hope- 
ful, affectionate expression in his heads, reminds us of 
the Venetian school. 

His ce/ebrity in a short period had extended through 
the whole of Lombardy. Not only his native city, but 
Parma, Modena, Cesena, and Ferrara, were emu- 
lous to possess his works. Even Tuscany, so rich in 
painters of her own, had heard of Francia. The beau- 
tiful altar-piece which has enriched our National 
Gallery since the year 1841, was painted at the desire 
of a nobleman of Lucca. 

It is composed of two separate pictures. The larger 
compartment contains eight figures rather less than 
life. In the centre on a raised throne are seated the 
Virgin and her mother St. Anne. The Virgin is at- 
tired in a red tunic and a dark blue mantle which is 
drawn over the head. She holds in her lap the Infant 
Christ, to whom St. Anne is presenting a peach. The 
expression of the Virgin is exceedingly pure, calm, 
and saintly, yet without the seraph-like refinement 
which we see in some of Raphael's Madonnas : the head 



of the aged St. Anne is simply dignified and maternal. 
At the foot of the throne stands the little St. John, hold- 
ing in his arms the cross of reeds and the •scroll in- 
scribed "Ecce Agnus Dei (Behold the Lamb of God /)" 
On each side of the throne are two saints. To the 
right of the Virgin stands St. Paul holding a sword, the 
instrument of his martyrdom ; and St. Sebastian bound 
to a pillar and pierced with arrows. On the left, St. Law- 
rence with jhe emblematical gridiron and palm-branch, 
and another saint, probably St. Frediano. The heads 
of these saints want elevation of form, the brow in all 
being; rather low and narrow ; but the prevailing ex- 
pression is simple, affectionate, devout, full of faith 
and hope. The background is formed of two open 
arches adorned with sculpture, the blue sky beyond: 
and lower down, between St. Paul and St. Sebastian, is 
seen a glimpse of a beautiful landscape. The drape- 
ries are grand and ample; the colouring rich and 
warm ; the execution most finished in every part. On 
the cornice of the raised throne or pedestal is inscribed 
Francia aurifex Bononiensis P. (t. e. painted by 
Francia, goldsmith of Bologna), but no date. It mea- 
sures six feet and a half high by six feet wide. 

Over this square picture was placed the lunette, or 
arch, which now hangs on the opposite side of the 
room. It represents the subject called in Italian a 
Pietd— the Dead Redeemer supported on the knees of 
the Virgin mother. An angel clothed in green 
drapery supports the drooping head of the Saviour; 
another angel in red kneels at his feet Grief in the 
face of the sorrowing mother — in the countenances of 
the angels reverential sorrow and pity— are most ad- 
mirably expressed. 

This altar-piece was painted by Francia about the 
year 1500, for the Marchesa Buonvisi of Lucca, and 
placed in the chapel of the Buonvisi family in the 
church of San Frediano. It remained there till lately 
purchased by the Duke of Lucca, who sent it with 
other pictures to be disposed of in England. The two 
pieces were valued at 4000/. ; after some negotiation 
our government obtained them for the National 
Gallery at the price of 3500/. 

The works ot Francia were, until lately, confined to 
the churches of Bologna and other cities of Lombardy ; 
now they are to be found in all the great collections of 
Europe, that of the Louvre excepted, which does not 
contain a single specimen. The Bologna Gallery con- 
tains six, the Berlin Museum three of his pictures.* 
In the Florentine Gallery is an admirable portrait of a 
man holding a letter in his hand. In the Imperial 
Gallery at Vienna there is a most exquisite altar- 

Kiece, the same size and style as the one in the 
Fational Gallery, but still more beautiful and poetical ; 
and the Gallery at Munich contains a picture by him, 
perhaps the most charming he ever painted. It re- 
presents the Infant Saviour lying on the grass amid 
roses and flowers; the Virgin stands before him, 
looking down with clasped hands, and in an ecstasy of 
love and devotion, on her divine son : the figures are 
rather less than life. A small but very beautiful 
picture by Francia, a Madonna and Child, is in the 
possession of Mr. Frankland Lewis. 

It is pleasant to be assured that the life and character 
of Francia were in harmony with his genius. Vasari 
describes him as a man of comely aspect, of exemplary 
morals, of amiable and cheerful manners : in conver- 
sation so witty, so wise, and so agreeable, that in dis- 
course with him the saddest man would have felt his 
melancholy dissipated, his cares forgotten ; adding that 
he was loved and venerated not only by his family and 
fellow-citizens, but by strangers and the princes in 
whose service he was employed. A most interesting 
* One of tliesc (No. 253; is a repetition of the Pieta in our 
National GalU'rj. 



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circumstance in the life of Francia was his friend- 
ship and correspondence with the youthful Raphael, 
who was thirty-four years younger than himself. 
There is extant a letter which Raphael addressed to 
Francia in the year 1508. In this letter, which is ex- 
pressed with exceeding kindness and deference, 
Raphael excuses himself for not having painted his 
own portrait for his friend, and promises to send it 
soon ; he presents him with his design for the Nativity, 
and requests to have in return Francia's design for 
the Judith,* to he placed among his most precious 
treasures ; he alludes, but discreetly, to the grief 
w^ich Francia must have felt when his patron Ben- 
tivoglio was exiled from Bologna by Pope Julius II., 
and he concludes affectionately, u continue to love me 
as I love you, with all my heart," Raphael afterwards, 
according to his promise, sent his portrait to his friend, 
and Francia addressed to him a very pretty sonnet, in 
which he styles him, as if prophetically, the " painter 
above all painters:" 

« Tu solo il Pittorsei de* PHtori. w 

About the year 1516 Raphael sent to Bologna his 
famous picture of the St. Cecilia surrounded by other 
Saints, which had been commanded by a lady of the 
house of Bentivoglio, to decorate the church of St. 
Cecilia, the same church in which Francia had painted 
the frescoes already mentioned. Raphael in a modest 
and affectionate letter recommended the picture to the 
care of his friend Francia, entreating him to be 
present when the case was opened, to repair any injury 
it might have received in the carriage, and to correct 
anything which seemed to him faulty in the execution. 
Francia zealously fulfilled his wishes ; and when he 
beheld this masterpiece of the divinest of painters, 
burst into transports of admiration and delight, placing 
it far above all that he had himself accomplished. As 
he died a short time afterwards, it was said that he had 
sickened of envy and despair on seeing himself thus 
excelled, and, in his native city, his best works 
eclipsed by a young rival. Vasari tells this story as 
a tradition of his own time, but it rests on no other 
evidence,t and is so contrary to all we know of the 
gentle and generous spirit of Francia, and so incon- 
sistent with the sentiments which for many years he 
had cherished and avowed for Raphael, that we may 
set it aside as unworthy of all belief. The date of 
Francia's death has been a matter of dispute, but it 
appears cei tain from state documents lately discovered 
at Bologna, that he died Master of the Mint in that 
city, on the 6th of January, 1517, being then in his 
sixty-eighth year. His son Giacomo became an esteemed 
painter in his father's style: in the Berlin Gallery 
ihere are six pictures by his hand ; and one by Giulio 
Francia, a cousin and pupil of the elder Francia. 



THE DYKES AND CANALS OF HOLLAND. 

The proverbial industry of the Dutch has been in 
great measure brought forth by the extraordinary 
position which their country occupies with respect to 
the sea, and the consequent necessity of cutting canals 
and building dykes to regulate the exit of rivers and 
the exclusion of the sea. 

Holland is one continuous plain, having nothing like 
a mountain in it, exhibiting only along the shore a 
range of low sand-hills, occasionally broken to admit 
the exit of the rivers. Immediately behind these low 
hills is a tract of country so little elevated, that the great- 
est precautions have to be made to prevent the irrup- 
tion of the sea. It also results from the position of this 

* This drawing is said to exist in the collection of the Arch- 
duke Cliarles at Vienna. — See Passavunt. 

f His expression is, *' come alwni cv&tono (as somo believe)*'* | 



low tract within the sand-h ills, that the rivers flowing 
towards the sea are liable to overflow the country on 
cither side, and form swamps and shallow lakes. Be- 
sides the canals made purposely as media either for 
inland navigation or for draining, there are others 
whose origin is curious. There is in many of the 
lower districts turf from twelve to twenty feet in 
thickness; and when this has been cut for fuel, it 
leaves trenches which, when filled with water, become 
a sort of canal or lake. These sheets of water are 
called Plasseu, or Plashes, by the Dutch ; and being 
all on one level and united by canals, they become na- 
vigable ; but as many of these plashes when united 
form a considerable lake, which has waves, and injures 
the adjacent lands, it is the desire of the Dutch to 
have them drained and cultivated. For this purpose 
these lakes are surrounded by dykes, to keep out any 
accession of water ; on the outside of which a " ring- 
sloot," or surrounding drain, is made, of dimensions 
sufficient to be a navigable canal. The water is then 
raised from the interior by means of a windmill to the 
ringsloot, along which it passes into the sea ; and the 
drained land then is in a fit state for cultivation, and 
obtains the name of a " polder." 

So large a portion of Holland is below the level of 
the sea, that the dykes for preventing irruptions, and 
the canal locks for facilitating the exit of rivers, form 
a subject of important and paramount interest. The 
draining and other hydraulic operations were in the 
last century intrusted to certain government bodies, 
each of whom took certain districts, such as Rhinland, 
Amstelland, Goyland, Delftland, and Shieland. Since 
then changes have been made in the nature of the juris- 
diction, but equal care is still bestowed on the subject. 

The numerous branches which form the mouths of 
the Rhine, and the alluvial deposits which they leave, 
may be said almost to form a great part of Holland ; 
and the arrangements of the canals greatly depend on 
the directions which these branches take. When the 
Rhine reaches Holland, at a place between Emmerich 
and Arnheim, it becomes divided into two. The 
greater mass takes a westerly direction, and, under the 
name of the Waal, pursues its way towards the sea. 
After passing Nimeguen it receives the waters of the 
Meuse, or the Maas, and then spreads out into an in* 
ternal sea, called Holland's Diep ; whence it passes by 
Dort and Rotterdam. The northern branch of the 
Rhine becomes split into many minor branches, one of 
which passes byZutphen into the Zuydersee; another 
joins the Meuse near Rotterdam ; and a third, forming 
the most important part, proceeds onward to Utrecht. 
Here another subdivision occurs: one sub-branch, 
called the Amstel, flows from Utrecht through Am- 
sterdam to the Zuydersee ; while the other, which still 
retains the name of the Rhine, once more suffers a 
subdivision, the northern branch flowing into the Lake 
of Haarlem, and the other flows into the sea at Kat- 
wyk. Thus the noble river becomes split into a 
system of arteries percolating the country in all direc- 
tions, and feeding the inland lakes. 

It is supposed that the preat northerly branch of 
the Rhine originally flowed into the Lake of Haarlem, 
and thence past Amsterdam into the Zuydersee ; and 
that the western course into the German Ocean is an 
artificial cutting. But whether or not the channel of 
Katwyk was a natural one, it is recorded that this 
channel became choked up in the year 841, by sand 
being driven directly across its mouth. After that, the 
northern branch of the river flowed past Leyden into 
Haarlem Lake. Within a few years, nowever, a canal 
has been cut to Katwyk, small as to actual length, but 
exhibiting very extensive works ; the object of which 
is to maintain a western outlet for the Rhine without 
flowing into Haavlcm Lake. The author of the 

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' Family Tour in South Holland,* after speaking of 
the various branches of the Rhine, describes the Kat- 
wyk branch as follows : — 

" The province of Holland in general, however, and 
the district of Rhinland in particular, are most deeply 
concerned in the smallest or Leyden branch, as by the 
proper management of this stream only is that part 
of the country preserved from one sweeping inunda- 
tion. The main works for this purpose are at Katwyk, 
where, by very simple but effectual contrivances of 
flood-gates, the waters of the Rhine are let out into 
the sea, and those of the sea shut out from the land. 
The distance from Leyden is about ten miles, through 
five of which, nearest to the sea, a broad and deep 
canal has been cut, across which a triple set of double 
gates have been thrown, the first having two pair, the 
second four pair, and the last seven pair, with stone 
piers of excellent masonry between them. Against 
these last gates the tide rises twelve feet, and to take 
off the pressure, an equal depth is preserved in the 
great dam within them. When the Rhine has accu- 
mulated behind the other gates to a certain height, 
the whole of the gates are thrown open at low-water, 
the rush of which completely scours the passage of 
sand, which, before the adoption of these gates, used 
constantly to choke up the channel of the Rhine ; and 
the waters, thus impeded, frequently inundated the 
country, and had more than once threatened Leyden 
with destruction. It has been calculated that these 
seven gates, when thrown open, are capable of dis- 
charging a volume of water not less than one hundred 
thousand cubic feet in a second of time." From this 
description it would appear that the level of the water 
in the Rhine near Katwyk is lower than high-water 
level, but higher than low-water level in the sea. 

Further details concerning the Katwyk Canal were 
given in a paper read before the Institute of Civil 
Engineers a year or two ago. From this paper it ap- 
pears that the district called Rhinland, between 
Leyden and the sea, was six centuries ago about on a 
level with the medium tide in the open sea ; and that 
each 4 polder,' or cultivated spot, was separately pro- 
tected from the spring-tides by an embankment. 
Since that period a change is said to have occurred in 
the relative levels of the Rhinland and the surround- 
ing waters, either by the sinking of the land or the 
elevation of the sea, whereby the Zuydersee is above 
the level of the Rhinland district. A consequence of 
this is that the northern branch of the Rhine and the 
Zuydersee itself have such a tendency to overflow the 
land, that water-machines moved by windmills are 
everywhere in request for draining the land. The 
district of Rhinland contains about 3)7,500 English 
acres, of which 137,077 are occupied by polders, or dis- 
tricts embanked. and drained by windmills; 38,155 by 
lakes and peat-bogs already laid dry; 81 ,575 by higher 
land and sand-banks, and 60,692 by lakes, canals, 
ditches, &c. The drainage of this district is effected 
by two hundred and sixty-eight windmills, working 
scoop-wheels, or Archimedean screws. Ever since the 
choking up of the Katwyk mouth by sand six cen- 
turies ago, attempts have been from time to time 
made to form an outlet for the waters. By about the 
year 1400 the repairs of the embankments had be- 
come so expensive, that the landowners abandoned 
their estates rather than pay the cost of preserving 
them. In 1573, when the city of Leyden was besieged 
by the Spaniards, every attempt was made to cause an 
influx ot the waters, as a means of annoying the in- 
vading army ; but this project was dearly purchased, 
for the expense of afterwards renewing the works 
would have been so great, that matters were left as 
they were for a long period. In 1627 attention was 
again directed to the subject, and Katwyk was pointed 



out as the only spot for an effectual system of drainage. 
From that time repeated plans were formed by en- 
gineers for making a good outlet at Katwyk, and in 
most of these the draining of Haarlem Lake was in- 
cluded as one of the operations. At length, in 1804, a 
plan was finally agreed on by the government for the 
construction of the canal, which was completed in 
1807, after many difficulties had been encountered. 

The canal is described as consisting mainly of two 
parts, one from Leyden to the sand-banks, and the 
other from the sand-banks to the sea. The levels are 
so planned that the canal may be made the means of 
partially emptying Haarlem Lake, as well as draining 
Rhinland, for this has always been one object in view. 

The Haarlem Lake, to which allusion is here made, 
lies between Leyden and Amsterdam; and as it is 
not necessary to inland navigation, the ground which 
it occupies would be much more valuable for cultiva 
tion : hence the anxiety of the Dutch to drain it The 
lake begins a little to the north-east of Leyden, and 
passes northward to the town of Haarlem, where a 
contraction of the width separates it by a strait from a 
sort of narrow lake or broad river called the Y, the 
Ye, the Tai, or the Tye (for it is spelt in all those dif- 
ferent ways). The Y proceeds eastward for a short 
distance, passes Amsterdam, and falls into the Zuyder- 
see, a large but shallow sea which opens into the 
German Ocean near Texel. There seems good reason 
to believe that all these inland seas were produced in 
some way or other by the Rhine, and that they may in 
fact be deemed one of its mouths. The writer whom 
we have before quoted remarks :— '• A great part of 
Friesland and Rhinland is still a turbary (or peat- 
moss), and so are the shores of the Zuydersee (or Zuyder- 
zee, as it is often spelt). One may easily imagine 
that when once this light and spongy kind of earth 
was lifted up by the water underneath, the recoil of 
the waves of the sea on one side, and the impeded cur- 
rent of the river acting upon it, would easily carry off 
whole masses into the ocean." 

Within the last few years paragraphs have occasion- 
ally found their way into the public journals respecting 
the preparation for draining the Lake of Haarlem. 
Although the canal of Katwyk was in part intended to 
effect this object, it would appear, from more recent 
proceedings, that this result has not yet been obtained. 

It is one consequence of the extreme shallowness of 
Haarlem Lake and the Zuydersee, that ships cannot 
navigate them with safety for the purposes of com- 
merce ; and hence a canal of magnificent dimensions 
has been constructed for effecting that which we might 
from a glance at a map think that these two seas would 
effect In order to get from Amsterdam to the Ger- 
man Ocean by sea, a ship must go a little eastward to 
the Zuydersee, thence northward, nearly to the ex- 
tremity of that sea, and thence past the island of Texel 
into the sea. But it happens that the water of this 
sea is so shallow near Amsterdam, that heavily laden 
ships cannot approach the city. Hence the Grand 
Ship Canal was projected about twenty years ago, and 
forms one of the finest specimens of canal engineering. 
The object of this is to connect Amsterdam with the 
open sea without going into the Zuydersee at all ; and 
as ships of large size were to be accommodated, the 
dimensions of the canal are of most unusual magni- 
tude. It is fifty miles long, fifty-six feet wide at the 
bottom, a hundred and twenty-tour at the top, and 
twenty feet deep. It is supplied with water from the 
sea at high tide, and is provided with two tide-locks at 
the ends, two sluices with flood-gates, and eighteen 
drawbridges. The dimensions are so great that two 
frigates can pass each other in the canal. The canal 
terminates northward at the southernmost margin of 
the mouth of the Zuydersee. 



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[Anglo-Saxon Coffin and Orave-Clothea. From a Picture of the Railing of Lasarut, tn Cotton MS.] 



USAGES BEFORE INTERMENT AND FUNE- 
REAL CEREMONIES. 

One of our finest old writers (Jeremy Tavior, in his 
• Holy Dying')* speaking of the duties of the living in 
respect to the dead, observes : — •• When thou hast wept 
awhile, compose the body to burial ; which that it be 
done gravely, decently, and charitably, we have the 
example of all nations to engage us, and of all ages of 
the world to warrant ; so that it is against common 
honesty and public fame and reputation not to do this 

office Something is to be given to custom, 

something to fame, to nature and to civilities, and to 
the honour of deceased friends ; for that man is es- 
teemed to die miserable for whom no friend or rela- 
tion sheds a tear or pays a solemn sigh. ^ . 
What we do to the dead, or to the living for their 
sakes, is gratitude, and virtue for virtue's sake, and the 
noblest portion of humanity." Another of our old 
writers (Hooker), in reference to the same subject, re- 
marks that all men have accounted it ** a very extreme 
destitution " not to have paid to them, after death, at 
least as much respect as is mentioned in the burial of the 
widow's son, " the carrying him forth upon a bier and 
accompanying him to the earth." Whatever tends to 
lessen the reverential regard for the dead, so natural to 
every person of right feeling, and spoken of so elo- 
quently by the great writers above quoted, is a matter 
which concerns the public morality, and as such calls 
for the interference of the legislator : it is a symptom of 
brutishness and ignorance which cannot be too soon 
eradicated. These and other fearful results of bad 
social arrangements, which have latterly forced them- 
selves upon public attention, or been all at once dragged 
into the light of day, while no one was dreaming of 
their existence, are of the utmost concern to the com- 
mon welfare. A Report by Mr. Chad wick, on the 
' Practice of Interment in Large Towns,' leads us to 
believe that a callous indifference and want of respect 
for the dead has already made great progress ; but the 
first step towards its correction is a knowledge of its 
existence, the extent to which it prevails, and the cir- 
cumstances in which it originates. The present, like 
all Mr. Chadwick's Reports, is remarkable for the 



administrative ability which it displays, and, as has 
been observed of his former Reports, it also is "admir- 
able in all respects for excellence of composition, 
soundness of judgment, and all that indicates the pos- 
session of every species of talent."* 

Passing by for the present the ample evidence in 
the Report relative to the bad effects of interments 
within large towns, we come to the section devoted to 
an account of the injuries to the health of survivoro 
occasioned by the delay of interments, and which, un- 
less the practice were altered, would exist, if burial 
were entirety prohibited amidst the dwellings of the 
living. Taking London, for example, it is found that 
a large proportion of the labouring classes have but a 
single room : " it is their bed-room, their kitchen, their 
washhouse, their sitting-room, their dining-room ; and. 
when they do not follow any out-door occupation, it is 
frequently their work-room and their shop. In this 
one room they are born, and live, and sleep, and die 
amidst other inmates." Mr. Liddle, the medical officer 
of a district in Whitechapel inhabited by dock-la- 
bourers, • navigators,' bricklayers' labourers, and 
others of the working classes, thus describes the situa- 
tion of one of these families on the occurrence of a 
death • — " The corpse is kept in the room where the 
inmates sleep and have their meals. Sometimes the 
corpse is stretched on the bed, and the bed and 
clothes are taken off, and the wife and family lie 
on the floor. Sometimes a board is got, on which the 
corpse is stretched, and that is sustained on tressels or 
on chairs. Sometimes it is stretched out on chairs. 
When children, they are frequently laid out on the 
table. The poor Irish, if they can afford it, form a 
canopy of white calico over the corpse, and buy candles 
to burn by it, and place a black cross at the head 
of the corpse. Sunday is the day usually chosen for 
the day of burial ; but if a man die on the Wed- 
nesday, the burial will not take place till the Sunday 
week following." The practice of late interments seems 
to be general amongst every class in the metropolis. 
In the north of England, and in the rural districts gene- 
rally, the time between dissolution and burial is much 
shorter. An undertaker residing in the Whitechapel 
* Lord Brougham 



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[February 3, 



district states that sometimes the remains of the dead 
are kept three weeks, all the ordinary occupations of 
a family going on the whole time in ihe same single 
room. The consequences are too shocking and revolt- 
ing for publication in a work intended for general 
readers. While the widow is out making arrange- 
ments for the funeral, the children are commonly left 
alone with the corpse. There can be no doubt what- 
ever as to the propriety of burial beyond the limits 
of towns, but the effects of the practice of retaining the 
bodies so long before interment are spoken of by 
medical witnesses as far more pernicious. Instances 
are given where one member of a family after another 
has been hurried to an untimely grave in consequence 
of exposure to the miasma of decomposition in a 
highly concentrated form. Where a death occurs, the 
survivors, exhausted in body by watching, and depressed 
by grief, are peculiarly, susceptible of disease. 

Mr. Chadwick shows' that of the deaths which take 
place in the metropolis, more than one-half are the 
deaths of the labouring classes, of whom four out of 
five families have each but one room. In the case, 
then, of upwards of 20,000 deaths annually in London, 
there occurs the retention of the corpse amidst the fa- 
mily in the shocking manner already described ; and 
of some 4000 deaths from epidemics in the metropolis, 
there is, besides the same distressing scene, peculiar 
danger, and perhaps permanent injury to the sur- 
vivors. The mental pain and moral evils generally 
attendant on the practice of the long retention of the 
body in the rooms in use, and amidst the living, is, if 
possible, still more deplorable than the evils of phy- 
sical contagion. Mr. Chadwick remarks: — 'When 
the dissolution has taken place under circumstances 
such as those described, it is not a few minutes' look 
after the last duties are performed, and the body is 
composed in death and left in repose, that is given to 
this class of survivors, but the spectacle is protracted 
hour after hour, through the dav and night, and day 
after day, and night after night, thus aggravating the 
mental pain under varied circumstances, and increas- 
ing the dangers of permanent bodily injury. The 
sufferings of the survivors, especially of the widow of 
the labouring classes, are often protracted to a fatal 
extent. To the very young children, the greatest dan- 
ger is of infection in cases of death from contagious 
and infectious disorders. To the elder children and 
members of the family and inmates, the moral evil 
created by the retention of the body in their presence 
beyond the short time during which sorrow and de- 
pression of spirits may be said to be natural to them, 
is, that familiarity soon succeeds and respect disap- 
pears. . . . The mental effects on the elder children or 
members of the family, of the retention of the body in 
the living-room, day after day and during meal-times, 
until familiarity is induced,— retained, as the body 
commonly is, during all this time in the sorties of dis- 
ease, the progress of change and decomposition dis- 
figuring the remains and adding disgust to familiarity, 
— are attested to be of the most demoralizing cha- 
racter .'" 

Mr. Chadwick points out the influence of these cir- 
cumstances on the character: — "Astonishment is fre- 
quently excited by the cases which abound in our 
penal records indicative of the prevalence of habits of 
savage brutality and carelessness of life amongst the 
labouring population; but crimes, like sores, will 
commonly be found to be the result of other influ- 
ences than are externally manifest; and the reasons 
for such astonishment will be diminished in proportion 
as those circumstances are examined which influence 
the minds and habits of the population more power- 
fully than precepts or book-education. Among those 
demoralizing circumstances which appear to be pic- 



ventible or removeable, are those which the present 
inquiry brings to light. Disrespect for the human 
form under suffering, indifference or carelessness at 
death— or at that destruction which follows as an 
effect of suffering — is rarely found amongst the un- 
educated, unconnected with a callousness to others* 
pain, and a recklessness about life itself. A known 
effect on uneducated survivors of the frequency of 
death amongst youth or persons in the vigour of life, is 
to create a reckless avidity for immediate enjoyment. 
Some examples of the demoralization attendant on 
such circumstances cannot but be apparent in the 
course of this inquiry into other practices connected 
with interment." 

A clergyman, who testifies from personal knowledge 
to the justness of Mr. Chadwick 's views on the present 
practice relating to the interment of the dead amongst 
the labouring classes, remarks : — ** With the upper 
classes a corpse excites feelings of awe and respect ; 
with the lower orders, in these districts (a wretchedly 
crowded parish), it is often treated with as little cere- 
mony as the carcass in a butcher's shop. Nothing can 
exceed their desire for an imposing funeral — nothing 
can surpass their efforts to obtain it; but the deceased's 
remains share none of the reverence which this anx- 
iety for the becoming burial would seem to indicate. 
The inconsistency is entirely, or at least a great part, 
to be attributed to a single circumstance— that the 
body is never absent from their sight — eating, drink- 
ing, or sleeping, it is still by their side ; mixed up 
with all the ordinary functions of daily life, till it be- 
comes as familiar to them as when it lived and moved 
in the family circle. From familiarity it is a short step 
to desecration. The body, stretched out upon two 
chairs, is pulled about by the children, made to serve 
as a resting-place for any article that is in the way, 
and is not seldom the hiding-place for the beer-bottle or 
the gin if any visitor arrives inopportunely. Viewed as 
an outrage upon human feeling, this is bad enough ; 
but who docs not see that when the respect for the 
dead, that is, for the human form in its most awful 
stage, is gone, the whole mass of social sympathies must 
be weakened — perhaps blighted and destroyed ? " 

Mr. Chadwick shows that the progress of this dread- 
ful demoralization, which must otherwise go on with 
the increased crowding of an increasing population, is 
capable of being stayed by legislative means, which 
would extend a benign and elevating influence amongst 
the survivors on the occurrence of a death in a family. 
The nature of the measures proposed must be noticed 
at another time. 



ON POPPY-OIL AND OPIUM. 

That the exciting and destructive substance opium 
should be derived from the same source as the Dland 
and useful poppy-oil, is only one among many similar 
instances which the vegetable kingdom affords; but it 
is not on that account less worthy of our notice. 
What opium is, and what are the extraordinary effects 
which it produces on the human frame, have been 
sufficiently noticed in No. 1G2; what are the com- 
mercial and political circumstances connected with the 
smuggling of opium from India into China have been 
glanced at in No, 509, and are repeatedly coming 
under public notice in some quarter or other ; but the 
connection between opium and poppy-oil as the pro- 
duce of the same p»ant forms a different subject. 

Mr. J. Young, in a paper on poppy-oil, in one of the 
scientific journals a few years ago, states that the cul- 
tivation of the poppy for the benefit of its oil as an 
article of food and for other useful purposes, has been 
long carried on to a great extent in France, Germany, 
and the Netherlands. Although it whs long since 



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known that the seed of the poppy and the oil obtained 
from it do not possess narcotic properties, and that it 
was baked into cakes and used as an article of food by 
the ancients, yet there has been much contention re- 
specting the propriety of using it. In France, about 
tne beginning of the seventeenth century, the opposi- 
tion to the general use of poppy-oil as an article of 
food became so violent, that the lieutenant-general of 
the police of Paris ordered the medical faculty of that 
city to make the strictest examination concerning this 
point; and they reported, that as there is nothing 
narcotic or prejudicial to health in the oil, the use of 
it might be permitted. But this decision proved to 
be unsatisfactory ; and popular clamour determined 
the court to pass a decree, in the year 1718, prohibiting 
the sale of poppy-oil, whether mixed or unmixed. The 
sale of the article, however, was clandestinely encou- 
raged, and gradually increased until the year 1735, 
when the court issued a severer decree, enjoining the 
superintendents to mix a certain quantity of the ex- 
tract of turpentine with every cask containing eleven 
hundred pounds weight of this oil, probably with a 
view to check its supposed injurious effects. 

In the year just named the consumption of this oil 
in Paris alone amounted to ten thousand casks ; but 
as the secret demand for it increased every year till 
1773, a Society of Agriculture, in the last-named year, 
undertook to examine all that had been alleged for and 
against the general use of this oil. Experiments were 
repeated in the presence of the most distinguished 
chemists ; and the Society presented a petition to the 
minister of police, setting forth the great advantages 
that would accrue both to commerce and agriculture 
by reversing the prohibition. This society again made 
Bcveral experiments in the year 1776, and finally con- 
firmed the decree of the faculty in 1717, declaring that 
the oil of poppies was not injurious to health ; that it 
did not contain a narcotic power, and that it might be 
recommended to general use with the utmost safety. 
From that time the cultivation of the poppy has not 
met with any formidable opposition, ana has increased 
to such a degree both in France and in the Nether- 
lands, that great quantities have been exported thence, 
independent of tne quantity retained for home use; 
and in seasons of scarcity it has been found of the most 
essential service in all cases where the use of oil was 
required. In the northern parts of France it was used 
by soapboilers as a substitute for other oils, which were 
extremely dear ; and in some part of the Netherlands 
the oil-cakes are used as fattening food for cattle. 

Mr. Young observes : — *• It is well known that maw- 
seed, obtained from a variety of the poppy, has long 
been used in this country for feeding birds. I have a 
canary that has been fed upon white poppy-seeds for 
many months ; and I supplied a person with this seed 
who breeds canary-birds for sale ; he gives them 
nothing else to eat, and observes that they thrive as 
well as when fed upon common seed. According to 
Dr. Alston, the poppy-seed is used as food in some 
places, as well as the expressed oil, which he says is as 
innocent and wholesome as olive-oil. And Mr. Kerr 
relates that the seeds of the poppy are sold in the 
market and are reckoned delicious eating ; they are 
used in emulsions, and enter into the cooling prescrip- 
tions of the Hindostan physicians. This is corrobo- 
rated by Mr. A. W. Davis. According to him, the 
seeds are valuable for the oil they contain ; and as an 
article of food are in great request with the natives ; 
and when used in this way the oil is scarcely to be 
distinguished from olive-oil, which is often adulterated 
with it. I have seen large quantities of poppy-seed 
exposed for sale in the bazaar of Calcutta. We are 
told, by Mr. C. A. Fisher, in his * Letters written 
during a Journey to Montpellier in the year 1804,' that 



the oil of Provence, which on account of its purity, 
mildness, and fine flavour is celebrated all over 
Europe, is exported to Italy in large quantities, and 
was formerly exported to many distant countries ; but 
since the hard winters of 1789 and the following years, 
so many olive-trees have been frozen, and during the 
Revolution so few planted, that Aix (which was the 
principal seat of its traffic) has now entirely lost its 
first and most lucrative branch of commerce. ,, These 
circumstances have greatly tended to increase the use 
of poppy-oil. 

The mode of culture and preparation of the poppy 
depends on the purpose to which it is to be applied, or 
the part of the plant which is to be brought to use. 
The opium is a milky juice obtained by incision ; the 
oil is expressed from the seeds contained in the cap- 
sule ; while the capsule itself— the globular shell to 
which the name of* "poppy-head" is frequently ap- 
plied — is extensively used in medicine. 

The routine of proceedings in the province of 
Bahar in India, where opium is the chief product re- 
quired, has been thus described : — The field being well 
prepared by the plough and harrow, and reduced to 
an exact level superficies, is ihen divided into qua- 
drangular areas of seven feet long and five feet in 
breadth, leaving two feet of interval, which is raised 
five or six inches, and excavated into an aqueduct for 
conveying water into every area; for which purpose 
there is a well prepared in every cultivated field. The 
seeds are sown in October or November. The plants 
are allowed to grow six or eight inches distant from 
each other, and are plentifully supplied with water. 
When the young plants are six or eight inches high, 
they are watered more sparingly ; but the cultivator 
strews all over the areas a nutrient compost of ashes, 
dung, and nitrous earth scraped from the highways 
and from old mud walls. When the plants are on the 
point of flowering, they are watered profusely, to in- 
crease the juice. W ften tne capsules are half grown, 
no more water is given. The cultivators then begin 
to collect the opium in the following manner: — At 
sunset they make two longitudinal double incisions 
upon each half-ripe capsule, passing from below up- 
wards, taking care not to penetrate into the interior 
cavity of the capsule. The incisions are repeated 
every evening, until each capsule has received six or 
eight wounds : and after each incision the dews of the 
succeeding night facilitate the exudation of the juice. 
Care and selection are required in these operations ; 
for if the capsule be allowed to ripen too much, it will 
yield hardly any juice; and if the incision were made 
in the heat of the day, the exudation would not occur 
in a proper manner. 

Early in each morning after an incision has been 
made, old women, boys, and girls collect the juice by 
scraping it off the wounds with a small iron scoop, and 
deposit the whole in an earthen pot, where it is worked 
by the hand in open sunshine, until it acquires a 
thicker consistence. It is then formed into cakes of a 
globular shape, about four pounds in weight, and laid 
in little earthen basins to be further dried, the cakes 
being covered over either with tobacco leaves or with the 
leaves of the poppy; and there they are kept till dry. 
These masses then constitute the opium of commerce. 
The Indian opium is, as here described, sold in round- 
ish masses, covered by leaves; while the Turkish 
opium is in flatter pieces, also covered by leaves. 

Such is the general mode of cultivating the poppy in 
India, where the opium, or inspissated juice of the cap- 
sule, is the chief object held in view. Where the culti- 
vation of this plant, as in Europe, is directed more to 
the production of seeds for oil than to that of opium, 
the arrangements, as described by Mr. Young, are 
nearly as follows: — 



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Mr. Young states that he made an experiment to 
determine which is the hest mode of sowing the seed. 
He adopted three different modes : in the first of which 
he sowed broad-cast, upon heds three feet wide, with 
an alley between, and tninned out to the distance of 
four or five inches ; in the second instance he sowed 
in heds three feet wide, in rows— six rows to a bed, 
and six inches between the plants; in the third in- 
stance he sowed on the spaces between rows of early 
potatoes, four feet wide, with two rows of pop- 
pies in each space, twelve inches between the rows of 
poppies, eight inches between the poppy plants, and 
three feet between each double row of poppies, occu- 
pied by one row of early potatoes. In the first method 
the seed produced only one capsule; in the second, 
two ; and in the last, from three to seven or eight. On 
this point he observes: — "The seed of the poppy 
comes to maturity after the extraction of the opium ; 
and when it is considered that it yields more than a 
third part of its weight of oil, and that a crop of early 
potatoes equal to thirty-six bolls per acre can be raised 
by the same culture on the same space of ground, with 
a crop of opium equal to fifty-six pounds, there is 
scarcely any plan that can be devised which would 
prove equally profitable to the cultivator, or more be- 
neficial to the community. One acre of poppies culti- 
vated in wide drills will produce in a good season one 
thousand pounds of seed, which will give by expression 
three hundred and seventy-five pounds of oil. 

After the opium harvest is over, the Beeds are ready 
for gathering about the end of August. This is done 
by drawing the entire plants out of the ground, bind- 
ing a sufficient number together, and placing them 
against each other in the manner of corn-sheaves, 
letting the whole remain in the fields a few days until 
perfectly dry. The sheaves are then laid upon a large 
cloth, the capsules bruised, and the seeds taken out ; 
after which the seeds are passed through a sieve. 

As soon after the collection of the seed as may be 
convenient, the oil is extracted from them ; for if this 
be long delayed the oil yielded is smaller in quantity, 
inferior in quality, and badly coloured. The mill, the 
press, and tne bags are all used perfectly clean. The 
first oil is destined for the use of families, and this is 
• cold-drawn,' as any degree of warmth injures the fla- 
vour. After as much is extracted in this manner as 
possible, a considerable quantity of inferior quality is 
obtained by heating the cakes and pressing them a 
second time. The oil which is first procured is of a 
pale colour, is peculiarly bland and soft, and has a fla- 
vour approaching that of almond-oil. It is used for 
salads and other domestic purposes, either alone or 
mixed with olive-oil. When olive-oil is stale or rancid, 
it may be considerably improved by admixture with 
recently made poppy-oil. The cold-drawn oil, for do- 
mestic use, is allowed to remain five or six weeks be- 
fore being used, that it may deposit in a sediment a 
kind of milky substance that is mixed with it. It is 
then poured into another vessel, and left partially ex- 
posed to the air for a time. 

The second-drawn oil is of a deeper colour, and is 
applicable to all the purposes of the more common 
oils, artists using the finer sorts of it as a drying oil. 
It preserves the colour of some kinds of paint better 
than the other oils, and is free from their disagreeable 
smell. 

Holland was supplied with this oil for a considerable 
time from France, and it was sold there under the 
name of olive-oil, or mixed with it in considerable 
abtiridance. About the year 1799 it was stated that the 
poppy was cultivated in Holland solely for its oil and 
oil-cake, which yielded a profit of about 8/. sterling 
per acre, after paying expenses, the oil selling at from 
five to six shillings per gallon. 



The medicinal uses of the plant are very numerous. 
The capsules, or poppy-heads, are frequently used to 
form an extract, and a decoction which is employed as 
a fomentation. The syrup of poppies is a medicine 
very much employed ; ana there are many others, such 
as Godfrey's Cordial and * soothing * medicines, whose 
chief object is to lull the sense of pain, in which the 
narcotic principle of the plant is brought into action. 
But the mode in which medicines of this kind are 
often made and used has been proved to be very mis- 
chievous, sufficient care not being observed in appor- 
tioning the strength of the medicine to the strength of 
the patient. For this reason, among others, it is rather 
a dangerous 'domestic' medicine in any of its forms, 
since it requires the skill of an experienced person to 
determine when and how it may be safely used. 



Rapid Manufacture of Honey. — How much honey a swarm of 
bees will gain in a day, depends on the largeness of the swarm, 
and goodness of the weather. If the swarm be very large, and 
the weather very good, and they are no way disturbed by break- 
ing down the ladders, they will gain twenty-eight pounds in 
fourteen days, or little more. My father once had a swarm of 
bees, which had stood only seven days, and being desirous of 
knowing how much they had gained, in bearing them up be 
broke down all their works. To prevent the honey from being 
lost, he took the comb, honey, and bees together into a brass pan. 
After straining it off, besides what was lost, he had fourteen 
pounds of clear maiden honey. — Cotton'* Bee- Boot. 



Machine at Tretavean Mine (Cornwall). — This is a machine 
for facilitating the ascent and descent of miners, by which four 
hundred and ninety persons are daily relieved from the arduous 
labour of going by ladders to the depth of 290 fathoms, or 1740 
feet, and of ascending by the same means : after eight hours of 
severe muscular exertion underground, every one must feel the 
importance of this ingenious application of mechanical and steam 

Sowers. The engine employed is of thirty-six inches cylinder, 
ouble acting, six feet stroke, equal beam. The outer end of the 
beam is connected by a sweep-rod and crank to a shaft on which 
are fixed two small pinion wheels, which drive two others of five 
times their diameter; thus the engine makes five strokes to one 
revolution of the large wheels. In one of the arms of each of the 
larger wheels, at a distance of six feet from the centre, is a pin, 
to which a rod is connected; each rod consequently makes a 
stroke of twelve feet at every revolution of the wheel. These 
rods, which are of Norway wood, eight inches square, are con- 
tinued to the depth above stated, and to these are attached plat- 
forms quite large enough for one person to stand on, at every six 
feet. Four feet above each platform there is a handle, consist- 
ing of a round bar of iron three-quarters of an inch in diameter, 
and two feet long, fixed vertically in the rod, which is laid hold 
of by the person on his stepping from one platform to another, 
and by holding it he maintains his footing on the platform when 
the rods are in motion with perfect ease and safety. A man 
takes his stand on one of these platforms, and is at once lowered 
or raised, as the case may be, twelve feet, when he steps to the 
platform on the other rod, and immediately is carried over another 
equal space. The speed of the engine is fifteen strokes per 
minute, by which each rod makes three strokes, or travels thirty- six 
feet. The rate of descending and ascending is therefore seventy- 
two feet in the minute. The time spent by the miner in climbing 
from the depth of 1740 feet was upwards of an hour; now, with- 
out any more fatigue than he would have in making about one 
hundred and forty steps upon level ground, be is brought to the 
surface in twenty-four minutes, or carried to an equal depth. 
This machine was erected by Mr. Michael Loam, a Cornish 
engineer ; but the miners are principally indebted for it to the 
benevolent exertions of a few individuals, who, in the roost noble 
manner, offered, through one of the county institutions, a pre- 
mium of 500/. to the first mine which should adopt some plan 
for relieving tbe miners from climbing. From one hundred and 
thirty to one hundred and forty men can descend, and the same 
number ascend, at tbe same time. The principal agent at the 
mine assures us, that not only has the health of the men been 
visibly improved since the introduction of the machine, but tbey 
have cheerfully completed one-fifth more work without an in- 
crease of wages. — Qreai fVettern (Bristol) Jdverttsrr. 



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w 



[1 , Papilie Maohaon ; 2, Apatora Iris ; 3, Hippacehia Migvra ; 4, VaiMMa Polychlorw ; 5, Vanetsa Urtie* ; 6, Vaneaa Ataluuta ; 7, Vanena lo.] 



CURIOSITIES OF BRITISH NATURAL 
HISTORY. 

Butterflies. — No. II. 

In our previous notice of the present group of 
insects we ventured upon a few observations relative 
to their caterpillar condition, and the changes through 
which they pass in their progress from the egg to a 
state of maturity. We may not unappropriated follow 
out the subject by adverting to some points of interest 
in the organization of the perfect butterfly. We need 
scarcely say that, according to the nature of their food, 
the structure of the mouth is expressly modified. No 
one can fail to observe the great difference between 
the mouth of the Beetle and the Butterfly: in the 
former the mouth is mandibulate, that is, formed for 
gnawing and seizing; in the latter it is haustellate, 
converted into a proboscis for suction. Yet in both, it 
would appear that the same constituent parts exist, 
varied as they may be in shape and use. 

In order to render the subject clear, let us first ex- 
plain the parts of a mandibulate mouth, which, as we 

no 761. 



have observed, is formed for mastication and seizing. It 
consists of a labrum, or upper lip ; a labium, or under 
lip ; two mandible*, or jaws ; two maxillce, or under 
jaws ; and a tongue. To the maxillae, or under jaws, 
are attached a pair of feelers called maxillary palpi; 
and a similar are also attached to the labium, or under 
lip, and called labial palpi. Each of the parts enume- 
rated requires further explanation. The labrum, or 
upper lip, is usually a movable organ terminating the 
face, so to speak, anteriorly, and its use appears to be 
to keep the food in its proper place during the action 
of the mandibles upon it. The labium, or lower lip, 
is opposed to the upper lip and serves a similar pur- 
pose ; acting conjointly with it. The labial palpi have 
usually two joints, exclusive of their basal attachment, 
and therefore consist of three portions, like the finger ; 
they serve as feelers of the food. Between the upper 
ana under lip are the two pairs of jaws, acting horizon 
tally ; namely, the mandibles and maxillae. The upper, 
or mandibles, are used for manducation. When viewed 
from above or beneath, they generally present a figure 
more or less approaching to a triangle, but are exter- 

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THE PENNY MAGAZINE. 



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nally convex, internally concave, tnc concave surface 
being mostly furnished with serrated processes or 
teeth. Let our reader examine the mouth of one of 
ihe beetle race, while reading these details. 

As insects with the jaws formed on the principle 
described vary in their food, so do these upper jaws 
vary in their details, as do the tenth of quadrupeds. 

In some (the Cerambicidae, Tenebrio, &c.) which 
gnaw vegetable food, there is something in the form of 
the upper jaws analogous to the incisor teeth of 
Rodents, as the hare. 

In carnivorous insects, as Cicindela, Carabus, Sta- 
philinus, the upper jaws remind us of the formidable 
canines of the tiger, or the sharp beak of the falcon, 
and are often armed with acute serrations or an array 
of spear-like points. In some which feed upon hard 
vegetable matter the upper jaws are stout, short, and 
strong, and have a lobe at or near their base, and a 
broad crushing or grinding surface, reminding us of 
the molar teeth of the Ruminant or Pachydermatous 
orders of quadrupeds. 

In some insects the mandibles are destitute of teeth ; 
in these cases, if the mandibles be long and sharp, the 
insect feeds upon soft animal substances, as worms; 
but sometimes this sort of jaw is furnished with a 
minute orifice near the apex, and in this case the in- 
sect pierces its prey, and sucks the juices through a 
tube perforating the mandible itself. 

Another modification is seen in the upper jaws of the 
stag-beetle (Lucanus Cervus). The jaws are immense, 
and resemble the antlers of the slag. As this beetle 
is not carnivorous (as might be presumed from such 
a structure), and as theiawsare equally unfitted for the 
mastication of \egetable matter, the question arises — 
to what are they adapted? It has been suggested to 
us by a naturalist who has studied the habits of this 
species, that these mandibles are used for piercing and 
lacerating leaves and twigs, thereby causing a flow of 
sap, upon which the beetle habitually feeds. 

We next come to the under jaws, or maxillae, which 
are placed beneath the mandibles, and move nearly 
parallel to them. Exclusive of the maxillary palpus, or 
feeler, they consist each of an upper lobe composed of 
two or three joints, and a lower lobe or division, the true 
under jaw, which is generally sharp, somewhat resem- 
bling the mandible, but furnished with numerous spires 
or bristles on its internal aspect. These parts vary 
greatly in different groups ; but the maxillary palpus 
is seldom wanting. The upper lobe, or section between 
the palpus and the true under jaw, is frequently absent 
or rudimentary. The under jaws appear to be used 
principally for turning the food about while the man- 
dibles are at work upon it. 

The tongue (lingua) is situated within the labium, 
or under lip, and sometimes emerges from it ; in many 
cases it constitutes an organ for collecting food, which 
it transmits to the gullet. In these instances it is 
peculiarly modified and developed. 

So far have we described a mandibulate mouth, as 
we find it in beetles; but let us turn to the haustellate 
mouth of the butterfly, and great will be our astonish- 
ment at the difference. 

In this reveller among flowers, the honey of which 
it sucks from the nectary, the maxillae, or lower jaws, 
are most wonderfully modified — they are no longer 
hard pincers, but form slender elongated tubes, and 
together constitute a long slender proboscis, resembling 
the fine tendril of a vine. Each maxilla is lengthened 
into a long annulated cartilaginous filament, governed 
by two layers of spiral muscular fibres, and is more- 
over hollowed longitudinally. The sides which oppose 
each other are channelled like a split reed, so that 
when the ed^es of each tubular filament are put 
together, and interlocked by means of a multitude of 



most minute barbs (like those along the plumelets of 
of a feather), they form an intermediate tube of a 
square shape. Thus, then, we have three tubes, the 
central leading to the gullet. This curious proboscis 
when not in use is coiled up and concealed ; but it can 
be unfolded, and inserted into the nectary of the 
flowers, the liquid honey contained therein being im- 
bibed through the central tube, which, as we have 
said, leads to the gullet, or commencement of the 
oesophagus. 

As the butterfly cannot exhaust the air in this cen- 
tral tube, as animals breathing through their lungs 
would exhaust a pipe continued from the mouth, and 
so suck up liquid, we must necessarily suppose the 
operation in the case of the butterfly to be performed 
in a very different way ; and it cannot be doubted that 
the lateral tubes, by the action of the spiral fibres 
surrounding them, have the power of producing a 
vacuum in the middle passage, so as to effect the rise 
of the nectar. 

These filamentous maxillae are developed at the ex- 
pense of the other parts of the mouth, which, though 
minute and undeveloped, may nevertheless be demon- 
strated. These are, more or less rudimentary, mandi- 
bles, a labrum, a labium, and labial and maxillary 
palpi ; the latter indeed are large, and easily distin- 
guishable, in the form of two plumose appendages, one 
on each side of the base of the proboscis. How 
different the leaf-cutting mouth of the voracious cater- 
pillar from the nectar-sucking proboscis of the bright- 
winged butterfly. The one, like the phytophagous 
beetle, is furnished with hard horny jaws, formed for 
crushing the substance of plants and herbage ; in the 
other, by a marvellous change, we find a slender, 
tubular, elongated proboscis, fitted only for robbing 
the flowers of their honeyed treasures. 

From these preliminary remarks, we pass to the 
species figured at the head of this article. 

1. The Swallow-tail Butterfly (Papilio Machaon). 
This beautiful species, though by no means so rare as 
its ally the P. Podalirius (which indeed can scarcely be 
called a British butterfly), is yet by no means generally 
abundant. It has never been observed in Scotland, 
and seldom in the northern counties of England. In 
Cambridgeshire it is stated to be tolerably common 
within the fenny districts, and it has been observed in 
Sussex. Essex, Hampshire, Middlesex, and Kent. On 
the Continent it is not unfrequent, and is abundant in 
Syria and Egypt, as well as in several parts of France, 
Italy, &c. It does not appear on the wing in our 
island till the beginning ot June. We believe that it 
has not hitherto been noticed in Ireland. 

Of all our indigenous butterflies this is the largest ; 
the female, which, as usual, exceeds the male in size, 
not unfrequently measuring three inches and a half in 
expanse of wings. Its flight is powerful. The general 
colour of the wings is black, powdered with yellow, 
and relieved by bold yellow markings, which colour 
indeed is spread over tne basal half of the hinder wings. 
From the posterior margin of these projects an acute 
slip, which may be compared to the outer tail-feathers 
of the swallow, and at each inner corner is an ocel- 
lated spot of red, with an anterior crescent of light 
blue ; the whole nearly surrounded by a ring of black. 
The body is black, covered with yellow hairs, which 
form a conspicuous line on each side of the thorax. 
The caterpillar is of moderate size, smooth, of a 
greenish colour, each segment being banded with a 
black line spotted with red. Umbelliferous plants, 
as fennel, carrot, &c, constitute its food ; in some dis- 
tricts in France where it is abundant, it is notorious for 
the ravages it makes on the latter vegetable. 

2. The Purple Emperor, or Highflyer 'Apatura 
Iris). 



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It is only in the oak-woods of the more southern 
counties of our island that this splendid butterfly ap- 
pears, and that not in abundance ; it has been styled 
** the purple emperor of the British oak ;" and if 
beauty, strength of wing, fearlessness, and a lofty, 
bold, and vigorous flight entitle it to pre-eminence, it 
certainly Btands at the head of our native butterflies. 
It seldom makes its appearance before the month of 
July, and may then be seen during the middle of the 
day, while the sun glows with meridian effulgence, 
soaring on rapid wings high over the summits of the 
tallest oaks, on the topmost twigs of which it settles 
for repose towards the approach of evening. No 
species of butterfly is captured with so much difficulty 
(a net at the end of a rod thirty feet long being neces- 
sary for the chase), unless indeed it should chance to 
settle on the ground, when it permits the closest ap- 
proach. This, however, is a rare occurrence ; on the 
contrary, it often mounts beyond the power of eye- 
sight. This account refers more "particularly to the 
males, for the females are far more rarely seen on the 
wing, but keep to the tops »of the oaks, and con- 
sequently are far less frequently captured than the 
other sex. 

The wings of this species are firm in texture; their 
general colour above is dark brown, changing in cer- 
tain lights into rich purplish blue of metallic lustre, 
and relieved by marks of white. On the hinder wings 
near the inner angle is a small black spot surrounded 
by red ; under surface of wings rust brown, varied 
with white and black ; an ocellated spot on both. The 
caterpillar is pale green, with horns reddish at the tip. 
It feeds on the oak, willow, and ash. 

3. The Orange Argus, or Wall Butterfly (Hipparchia 
Megaera). 

This butterfly is by no means uncommon, and is 
verv generally spread, appearing from May to August ; 
it flits lightly and rapidly from one resting-place to 
another, expanding its wings to the sun. 

The fore- wings are orange-yellow, inclining to 
brown, marbled and banded along the edges with dark 
brown. Near the outer angle an ocellated spot of 
white with a black ring. Hinder wings with a row of 
spots, from three to five in number, in a crescentic 
hne near the outer margin ; the edge banded with 
brown. The caterpillar is hairy, of a light green, a 
whitish line running along each side. 

4. The Great Tortoiseshell Butterfly (Vanessa poly- 
chloros). 

It is principally in the southern counties of our 
island that this butterfly makes its appearance, and 
usually about the middle of July. On the Continent 
it is common, more particularly in the more southern 
districts. It is rapid on the wing, and often settles on 
dry pathways and the trunks of trees, delighting in the 
fervent rays of the sun. The wings are angulated, 
and often measure upwards of two inches and a half in 
extent; their colour above is dark orange-red, with a 
narrow vandyked edging of blue, and a second of 
black ; the fore-wings are marked anteriorly with ab- 
breviated bands of black, and spots of the same colour 
about the centre; the hinder wings have a large spot 
of black near the middle of the anterior margin. On 
the under side the basal half of the wings is dark 
brown, the remainder yellowish grey finely marked 
with undulating lines of brown, and an obscure row of 
bluish crescents towards the tip. On the anterior 
wings three pale spots are observable near the 
fore-margin, and one near the middle of the hinder 
pair. 

The caterpillar of this species is gregarious, spiny, 
and of a brownish tint, with a lateral stripe of orange ; 
the spines are slightly branched and yellowish. Col- 
lected in groups, the caterpillars weave webs, while 



very young, in the branches of various trees, as the 
willow, elm, and cherry, for their protection, but dis- 
perse after they have once or twice changed their 
skin. 

The Great Tortoiseshell Butterfly is closely related 
to the Small Tortoiseshell (V. Urticae), one of the most 
common of our British species, and of which the cater- 
pillar, of a blackish colour, with yellow stripes, is found 
in abundance on the nettle. 

5. The Small Tortoiseshell Butterfly (Vanessa Ur- 
ticae). A description of this butterfly, to which we have 
just alluded, and which is so common and so well 
known, is scarcely necessary. It is abundant not only 
in England, but on the adjoining continent, and is con- 
spicuous for its beauty and the lightness with which 
it flits from flower to flower. Two broods occur every 
year— one early in spring, the other in autumn. It 
closely resembles the preceding species, but is much 
smaller, and has the base of the hinder wings black. 
Every nettle-bed abounds with its caterpillars, which 
are spiny. 

In Italy this butterfly continues on the wing during 
the winter, in fine weather; and in our island numbers, 
as it would appear, pass that season in a torpid con- 
dition, issuing from their retreats in February or March, 
when the sun breaks forth cheerfully, soon perhaps to 
be be-clouded. Hence the expression of Linnaeus 
respecting this species— •' fallax veris indicium" (a 
deceitful harbinger of spring). 

6. The Red Admiral (Vanessa Atalanta). Beauti- 
ful is this butterfly, with its velvet-black wings broadly 
banded with red, and relieved by white and blue. In 
all parts of our island it is very common, as well as over 
Europe, and the districts of Africa bordering the Me- 
diterranean : it is also found in the United States of 
America. This insect, says the clever writer of the 
| Journal of a Naturalist,' rarely " appears until late 
in September, and then so fresh ana perfect in its 
plumage as to manifest its recent production from 
the chrysalis. In some years they abound, and one 
may see twenty of these beautiful creatures expanding 
and closing their brilliant wings under the fruit-trees 
on our walls, or basking on the disc of some autumnal 
flower." " Many of our butterflies are produced by 
successive batches supplying the places of those which 
have been destroyed, and nere it is difficult to mark 
the duration of an individual ; others, as the Nettle, 
Peacock, and Wood-Tortoise, in many instances survive 
the winter hidden in some recess or sheltered apart- 
ment, appearing in spring-time worn and shabby. But 
V. Atalanta appears only in the autumn, not as a pre- 
served creature, but as a recent production ; and hence 
we can ascertain the duration of its life to be com- 
prised only within the period of September to the end 
of October; by which time its food in our gardens has 
disappeared. Some sheltered wall garnished with the 
bloom of ivy may prolong its existence a little longer, 
but the cold and dampness of the season soon destroy 
it, and hence is the life of this creature, the most beau- 
tiful of our lepidopterous tribes, of very brief dura- 
tion. 

The caterpillar of the red admiral (or Admirable of 
some writers) is solitary, spinous, and greenish, with a 
lateral line of yellow spots. It feeds on the nettle, and 
draws the leaf close round it to protect it both from 
the weather and the ichneumon fly : when the leaf is 
exhausted, it changes its skin, shifts to another, and 
webs that together as before. "When it has ^rown so 
large that one leaf will not cover and feed it, it creeps 
to the top of the nettle, webbing up the leaves, within 
which it lies feeding till the time for assuming the 
chrysalis state draws nigh. In August it fastens itself 
by the tail within the web under the nettle-tops, changes 
to a chrysalis, and in fourteen days emerges a perfect 

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butterfly, known by the broad scarlet band across the 
anterior wings, and the broad red border of the hinder 
wings. 

7. The Peacock's-Eye (Vanessa Io). The colour of 
this well-known species is deep brownish red inclining 
to purple, with a large eyelike spot on each wing 
above : beneath (as in the figure) the wings are dark 
shining brown, traversed by fine undulating lines of 
black. 

In the south and midland counties of England this 
beautiful species is very common, but it is more rare 
in the north, and seldom seen in Scotland. It usually 
appears in July, flitting about hedgerows, along shaded 
lanes, and about the borders of copses, alighting every 



now and then to sun its wings, and again starting off on 
its aerial excursion. The caterpillars are found on 
the nettle, and are gregarious ; they are beset with 
spines, and are of a black colour with white spots, and 
the hinder legs ferruginous. They enclose themselves 
in a web, drawing the leaves close around them, and 
having changed their skin, remove to another quarter, 
and again form a new domicile ; and so on till nearly 
ready to assume the chrysalis state ; they then forsake 
the web, and feed separately : the chrysalis is greenish 
yellow, with ten dents, and bifid behind. In about 
three weeks the butterfly issues forth, disporting amidst 
the flowers of our meads and woodlands. 



fl'roccuion of Freemuttou* Oiphua* m 1-iecniuiuua' Hail. — From Stulhard.j 



ANCIENT AND MODERN CHARITIES. 

There are some curious matters connected with cha- 
ritable bequests which are deserving of notice, in some 
cases for the oddnesjof the bequest itself, and in others 
as illustrative of ancient manners or customs, or as 
explanatory of obsolete or local appellations. We 
shall mention a few of these ; but it maybe previously 
worth while to state, that, according to the last Report 
of the Charity Commissioners, the present amount 
of income arising from charities in England and 
Wales is 1,209,395/., a large sum, the greater part of 
which is applied to the endowment of almshouses for 
the lodging and maintenance of the aged or infirm 
poor, or for stated distributions of money, clothing, or 
food to those who are in want of such assistance in 
particular districts. The income arising from bequests 
tor purposes of education amounts to 312,544/., of 
whicn toe income of endowed grammar-schools is 
152,047/., of schools not classical 141,385/., and of 
bequests for general purposes of education 19,112/. 
In addition to the above sums, the amount raised for 
somewhat similar purposes by voluntary contribution 
is very large. In London alone, the establishments for 
the education and support of orphan children, one of 
the most unexceptionable forms of benevolence, are 



very numerous, but frequently assume an air of exclu- 
siveness thai is more curious than really objectionable 
Thus we have institutions for the orphans of Clergy- 
men, for those of natives of Wiltshire, Westmoreland, 
Yorkshire, and perhaps some other counties, for those 
of bakers, publicans, &c, and for those of Freemasons, 
of which tne exhibition of the children at the annual 
dinner is represented above. 

Some bequests made for the advantage of the public 
in particular places have become obsolete in conse- 
quence of modern improvements. For example, John 
Wardall, in 1656, left a tenement to the Grocers* 
Company in London, for the purpose of making a 
yearly payment of 4/. to the churchwardens of St. 
Botolph s, Billingsgate, in order to provide a lantern 
of iron and glass, with a candle, that passengers might 
go with more security to and from the water-side all 
night long.* The lantern was to be fixed at the north- 
east corner of the church of St. Botolph, and 20*. was 
to be paid to the sexton for taking care of the lantern. 
For a similar purpose John Cooke, in 1662, left 20*. a 
year for a lantern, with a candle which was to be " of 
eight in the pound at least/' to be hung out at the 
corner of St. Michael's Lane, next Thames Street, from 
nine o'clock at night to four or five in the morning. 

In the parish of Biddenham, in Bedfordshire, there 
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is an ancient annual payment of 57. out of an estate 
formerly belonging to the family of Boteler, which 
has since become the property of Viscount Hampden. 
The sum is regularly paid on St Thomas's Day to the 
overseers of the poor, and is applicable by the terms of 
the original gift, or by long-established usage, to the 
purchase of a bull, which ia killed, and the flesh dis- 
tributed among the poor of the parish. For many 
years past the annual fund being insufficient to pur- 
chase a bull, the deficiency has been made good out 
of the rents of land which belonged to Mrs. Elizabeth 
Boteler, and which she left for charitable uses to the poor 
of Biddenham pariah. Some years airo it was proposed 
by the vicar that the 57. a year should be laid out in 
buying meat, but the poor insisted on haying their 
bull, and the usage is accordingly kept up. The price 
of the bull has varied of late years from 9/. to 14/. 
The churchwardens, overseers, and principal inhabit- 
ants assist at the distribution of the meat, the larger 
portions being given to those who have the largest 
families. 

Lysons, in his * Environs of London, 9 vol. iii.,p. 341, 
speaking of some lands which were bequeathed by two 
maiden gentlewomen to the parish of Haddington, for 
4 he purchase of bread, cheese, and beer, to be dis- 
tributed among the inhabitants on the Sunday before 
Christmas Day, states, that they are now let for 21/. 
per annum, and that •• the bread was formerly thrown 
from the church-steeple to be scrambled for, and part 
of it is still distributed in that way." 

In the township of Setmurthy, in Cumberland, the 
maintenance of the schoolmaster consisted chiefly of 
his whittle-gait, as it was called, which means, that he 
was entitled to use his knife (for forks were not then 
in use) at the tables of certain of the inhabitants of the 
parish or township. Whittle is an old English name 
for a knife. Chaucer, speaking of the Milter, says, 

" A Sheffield thwhytle baie he in hit bote," 

In the north of England the word is still in use, and 
whittling is synonymous with cutting. Twenty of the 
inhabitants of Setmurthy, in 1723, entered into an 
agreement to pay certain annual sums to the school- 
master, and to keep him a certain number of weeks 
each. The total amount paid to him was 36/., the 
money payments being 36*. The whittle-gait, in its 
practical application, haa long been given up, but the 
amount was collected by the overseers from tne owners 
of the several tenements which were liable according 
to the agreement, and was paid over to the school- 
master ; but about forty years ago the overseers ceased 
to make the collection, and the whittle-gait, as we be- 
lieve it is still called, has since been collected by the 
schoolmaster himself. But schoolmasters were not the 
only persons in the north of England who were en- 
titled to whittle-gait. In a note in Mr. Park's copy of 
Bourne and Brand's • Popular Antiquities,' it is stated 
that * Crossthwaite Church, in the vale of Keswick, in 
Cumberland, hath five chapels belonging to it. The 
minister's stipend is 57. per annum, and goose-grass, or 
the right of commoning nis geese ; a whittle-gait, or the 
valuable privilege of using his knife for a week at a 
time at any table in the parish ; and lastly, a hardened 
sark, or a shirt of coarse linen.'* 

Another mode of remunerating schoolmasters in the 
north of England arose out of the brutal game of cock- 
fighting, which schoolmasters even in those rude parts 
of England have now ceased to encourage. This kind 
of remuneration was called cock-penny. In the free- 
school of the parish of Crossthwaite in Cumberland, all 
children born in the parish are admitted and educated 
free of expense. Cock-pennies used to be paid to the 
master by the boys at Shrovetide, at which time there 
was a cock-fight close to the school, when a great 



scene of confusion and riot took place. The cock-fight 
and the payment of the cock-penny were both abolished 
when the rent of the school-land increased so as to af- 
ford a sufficient remuneration to the* master without 
such payment. 

The danger of losing themselves, to which travellers 
were formerly exposed from the want of good road?, 
even in the neighbourhood of a large town like Oxford, 
ft shown by John Gary's bequest of 10*. to the corpora- 
tion of New Woodstock to be paid on Lady-day yearly 
to the clerk or sexton of the town, or such other person 
as should be appointed to ring at night the eight 
o'clock bell, for the guidance and direction of travel- 
lers ; and in case they should refuse or neglect to ring 
the bell in manner aforesaid, then the said 10*. should 
cease to be paid to the mayor and commonalty, and 
should remain to the use of John Cary, his heirs, and 
assigns, till some person should be appointed to ring 
the said bell who should duly ring it. 

There lived at Barnes in Surrey, one Edward Rose, who 
died on the 18th of December, 1662 : in order to perpe- 
tuate the odour of that sweet name of Rose, after direct- 
ing his body to be buried in the churchyard of Barnes, he 
bequeathed 5/. for making a frame or partition of wood 
in tne churchyard where he had appointed his burying- 
place, and ordered three rose-trees or more to be set 
or planted about the place where he should be so in- 
terred. He then bequeathed 20/. to be laid out in the 
purchase of an acre of land for the use of the poor of 
the parish of Barnes ; but at the same time stipulated 
that out of the proceeds of this acre of land, his rose- 
trees should be preserved, or others planted in their 
places, from time to time, as they should decay. The 
rents are laid out in purchasing bread for the poor, 
but Rose's rose-trees seem to have been suffered to 
die off. 

Griffith Amerideth was anxious for the decent inter- 
ment of the bodies of criminals who should he exe- 
cuted at Ringswell in Devonshire. Ringsweli is 
situated near the village of Heavitree, and was the 
usual place of execution for criminals adjudged to 
suffer death for offences committed in the county of 
Devon or city of Exeter. Griffith Amerideth, by his 
will, dated January 3, 1556, directed that the profits of 
his land 8 and tenements in Sidford, Silbury, and Sal- 
combe, being of the value of 38*. or thereabouts, 
should be received by the mayor of the city of Exeter 
and his successors, the profits to be bestowed for ever 
towards the buying of shrouds for prisoners which 
should suffer at Ringswell, and for the maintenance of 
the wall which should be made, and should compass 
the ground that should be hallowed there for the 
burial of the prisoners ; and also for the maintenance 
of the chapel, if any should be built there. 

From a feeling probably akin to that which actuated 
Amerideth, Robert Dowe gave 50/. on the 8th of May, 
1705, in his lifetime, to tne end that the vicar and 
churchwardens of St. Sepulchre's, London, should, for 
ever, previously to every execution at Newgate, cause 
a bell to be tolled, and certain words to be delivered 
to the prisoners ordered for execution, in the form and 
manner specified in the terms of his gift, as set forth 
in the old will-book. An annual sum of 1/. 6*. Sd. in 
respect of this gift is charged upon the parish estate 
in West Smithfield. It is paid to the sexton, who em- 
ploys a person to go to Neweate on the night previous 
to every execution, where he offers to perform the 
prescribed duty, which, however, is always declined, 
as all needful services of that kind are performed 
within the prison. 

Richard Hudson, who seems to have been the pro- 
prietor, perhaps the landlord, of the Swan Inn, Hol- 
torn Bridge, London, manifested a more cheerful dis- 
position than the two testators just mentioned. By his 

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will, dated Oct. 19, 1558, he gave out of the rents of 
the Swan 4/. per annum ; 3/. 13*. 4 d. to be distributed 
among the poor of the parish of St. Sepulchre, Loudon, 
and the remaining 65. 8cJ. to be spent in " a recreation 
or drinking by the vicar and churchwardens,'* who 
were appointed to distribute the donation. 

In the parish of Aldridge in Staffordshire a custom 
formerly existed for the rector, on every Christmas- 
day, to give to every person in his parish who would 
then come to his house as much bread, beef, mustard, 
and vinegar as he could eat. This custom has been 
discontinued for many years, and instead of it the 
rector gives six-pence to every housekeeper in Ald- 
ridge who demands it; to every housekeeper in Barr 
who makes a similar demand he gives eight-pence. 
The money so given is called " Custom-Money." The 
origin of the custom is unknown. 

At the extremity of Slammergate in Rinon, York- 
shire, stands ** The Hospital of St. Mary Magdalen," 
which consists of a building containing six separate 
apartments on one floor, for the same number of poor 
women, called Sisters, with a garden in front, a small 
field adjoining, and a chapel at a little distance, on the 
opposite Bide of the street. The members of the in- 
stitution are a master, a chaplain, and six sisters. By 
an inquisition on the state of the hospital, taken in the 
tenth year of Edward II., it was found that there 
ought to be, according to the form of the foundation, 
two chaplains in the hospital to perform divine ser- 
vice ; but during the wnole time of Nicholas de 
Molyns, then master, the chauntry of one chaplain was 
withdrawn by him ; that strangers, mendicant clergy, 
or other indigent persons happening to travel that 
way, ought to have a bed and provisions for one night, 
but at that time none had that benefit, but went away 
vacua manu (empty-handed) ; that every year, on St. 
Mary Magdalen's Day, a farthing loaf {the quarter of 
wheat being then worth five shillings) and a herring 
should be given to every poor person that came ; but 
during the time of Nicholas de Molyns that charity 
was withdrawn, and in place of it he gave poor people 
who came on that day a saltseller (salsarium) of 
beans or meal, but the greater part of the poor got 
nothing. 



USES OF THE ELM-TREE. 

Thk English elm is characterized by Mr. Selby as 
a tree which •• not only forms the avenues of the 
finest public walks and drives in the vicinity of towns 
and cities, and enters largely into the proportion of the 
trees which surround the residences and adorn the 
parks of our nobility and gentry, but is also the com- 
mon and prevailing hedgerow timber in many districts, 
among which we need only to particularize the valleys 
of the Thames and the Severn." 

The employment of the elm as an avenue-tree is 
perhaps scarcely to be included among its " uses," in 
the common acceptation of the term ; but the custom 
is so generally prevalent as to deserve a few words of 
remark. The elm owes its selection for this purpose 
probably to its tall regular growth, the branches being 
subordinate to its straight continuous trunk, and to its 
magnitude and majestic growth. Different writers, 
however, such as Gilpin and Loudon, have expressed 
different opinions on these matters; and the rules of 
taste are not sufficiently defined to settle why such and 
such trees are deemed beautiful. Mr. Loudon, how- 
ever, attributes the fitness of the elm for an avenue- 
tree to the following qualities: — Rapidity of growth, 
straightness of trunk, facility for topping, densencss of 
foliage, hardness, longevity, and requiring very little 
care or pruning. In treating of this tree, in No. 633, 
we have alluded to some of these avenues, and there 



seems evidence that such avenues, or at least rows of 
elms, were prevalent in the Anglo-Saxon times ; fur 
there are more than forty places in England mentioned 
in Domesday-Book, in which the word "elm" is a com- 
ponent part of the name, such as Barn Elms, Nine 
Elms, &c. 

The elm-timber required for the keels of ships being 
of very large dimensions, we are prepared to expect 
that many giant trees of this kind have at times been 
the objects of individual description ; and such is, 
indeed, the case. In that valuable storehouse for such 
information, Loudon's •Arboretum,' as well as in 
other works on forest-trees, we meet with many curious 
details on this point. In the number already men- 
tioned we have enumerated some examples, and sball 
only add here one or two more of the most remarkable. 
On the Brighton road stands a tree called the Crawley 
Elm, whose trunk measures the enormous size of sixty- 
one feet in circumference at the base. The trunk is hol- 
low throughout, and has a door fastened by lock and key : 
but on certain festive occasions the neighbours meet 
and regale themselves within the tree, which will con- 
veniently hold a dozen persons at a time. A child is 
even said to have been born in this tree, and the mother 
to have lived there for several days. Two centuries 
ago there was an elm at Hampstead, witbinside whose 
trunk was a winding staircase thirty-three feet high, 
with a turret at the top capable of holding twenty per- 
sons. In the county of Kildare stood an elm which, 
till the year 1762, was deemed the finest in the world. 
The diameter of the head, taken from the extremities 
of the lower branches, exceeded thirty-four yards; but 
in the end of that year the two principal arms fell 
from the trunk in one night, apparently from their 
own weight, as the weather was perfectly calm. The 
timber contained in these branches sold for five 
guineas. In this situation the tree continued till the 
winter of 1776, when a violent storm lore up the whole 
by the roots, with a great mass of soil and rock adhering 
to them. Some time previous to this, the trunk bad been 
carefully measured, and was found to be thirty-eight 
feet and a half in circumference. It had been hollow 
for some years. 

The wood of the elm is of a brownish colour, and is 
hard and fine-grained. In shipbuilding it is used for 
forming the blocks and * dead-eyes' and other wooilei* 
furniture of rigging, being particularly suitable for 
these purposes from its hard and adhesive nature, and 
indisposition to crack or split when exposed to sun or 
weather. The most important use of it, however, is 
for the keels of ships. The wood for this purpose is 
brought to the form of a quadrangular beam, higher 
than wide, and with a 'scantling,' or scale of general 
dimensions, depending on the size of the ship. If the 
length of keel is not very great, the whole is made 
from one piece ; but if this be impracticable, two or 
more pieces are scarfed at the end, and strongly bolted 
and clinched together, being further strengthened and 
supported by a lower piece called the ' false-keel.' 

Elm is frequently used for the naves of wheels: in 
London it forms the usual wood for coffins. It has been 
from time immemorial used for water-pipes or troughs, 
for conveying the water of the salt-springs to the large 
boxes or pans where the watery particles are evapo- 
rated by the heat of the sun or by fire, and the salt 
deposited. It has been surmised that the term " wych*' 
elm, originally applied to many kinds of elm, is due 
to the use of elm for this purpose, as the Anglo-Saxon 
word wych implies a salt-spring (whence Droitwich, 
Nantwich, and other places where salt is procured}. 
The wood of elms that have been frequently pruned 
becomes knotted ; and such wood, when polished, is 
very ornamental. To obtain it the trees in France are 
souietimei kept topped, and headed down every three 

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or four years. The variety called the 'twisted elm' 
is also much esteemed in this respect, as are also the 
monstrosities, or knob*, found occasionally on all the 
species of elm, and which, when cut into thin slices 
and polished, arc used largely by cabinet-makers as a 
veneer. A mode is described of preparing the wood 
of the elm for cabinet-makers, and giving it the colour 
of mahogany. This consists in sawing the wood into 
thin planks, and then boiling it for an hour or more, till 
all the sap is extracted. The planks arc afterwards 
wiped dry with coarse cloths, and laid in piles alter- 
nately with layers of deal laths placed across the boards 
at regular distances ; about ten or twelve boards being 
thus placed one upon another, and a heavy weight 
being placed on the topmost. In this way the boards 
dry without warping, and are afterwards washed in 
aquafortis, when they are ready for the dye. This dye 
consists of two drachms of powdered dragon's-blood, 
one drachm of powdered alkanet-root, and half a drachm 
of aloes ; these ingredients being steeped in half a pint 
of spirits of wine. The tincture is applied with a 
sponge two or three times, according to the depth of 
colour required ; and the wood, thus dyed, is prepared 
for the usual process of polishing. 

As fuel the wood of the elm is rather inferior to that 
of beech; as it is likewise in respect to charcoal. 
The ashes of the elm are rich in alkali ; this tree oc- 
cupying, in this respect, the tenth place in a list of 
seventy-three trees. The leaves and young shoots were 
used by the Romans to feed cattle, and they are still 
so employed in many parts of France. They have in 
some places been given to silkworms; and in both 
France and Norway they are boiled to serve as food for 
pif;s. In some parts of Russia the leaves are said to 
to be used as tea. The bark is sometimes applied as 
an astringent medicine ; and the inner bark, like that 
of the lime, is employed for making nets and ropes. 
Both the outer and inner bark and the leaves are said 
to yield a substance which serves for glue. Young 
deer are very fond of the bark ; and in Norway it is 
ki in-dried and ground with corn to make flour for 
bread. 

Most of the above details relate to the common or 
English elm. A few words may now be said concern- 
ing the Scotch or mountain elm, called also the 
" wych" elm. 

The Scotch elm has not so upright a stem as the 
English, and it soon divides into long, widely-spread- 
ing, somewhat drooping branches, forming a large 
spreading tree. Gerard says that from the leaves 
somewhat resembling those of the hazel, the Hamp- 
shire people were in his time accustomed to call the 
wych or Scotch elm " witch-hasell ; " and he adds, 
" Old men affirm that when long-bows were in use, 
there were very many made of the wood of this tree ; 
for which purpose it is mentioned in the English 
statutes by this name of witch-hasell. " The tim- 
ber of this kind of elm has been long considered, 
in Scotland and Ireland, as next in value to that of the 
oak, and it has accordingly been extensively introduced 
into artificial plantations. 

In the time of Gerard the wood of the wych or 
Scotch elm was not only made into bows, but its 
bark, which is so tough that it will strip or peel off 
from the wood from one end of a bough to the other 
without breaking, was made into ropes. The wood 
was not considered so good for naves as the wood of 
the common elm, which then, as now, was considered 
superior in toughness and in strength, though the 
former cleaves better. Scotch elm timber is exten- 
sively used by the ship-builder, the boat-builder, the 
block and pump-maker, the cartwright, the cabinet- 
maker, and the coach maker. The tree when grown 
up has generally a slight bending in the stem, which 



renders it very fitting for floor-timbers of vessels. A 
contributor to the * Gardener's Magazine ' states that 
this timber •• is good for the naves, poles, and shafts of 
gigs and other carriages ; and from its not splintering, 
as the oak and ash do in time of battle, for swingle- 
trees of great gun-carriages. It is also used for dyers' 
and printers' rollers, the wood by constant use wear- 
ing smooth. Cartwrights employ it for shafts, naves, 
beds, rails, and standards for wheelbarrows ; and the 
handles of spades, forks, and other agricultural imple- 
ments." 

If we were disposed to term a superstitious employ- 
ment of the Scotch elm one of its " uses," then there is 
a curious example of such a use occasionally exhibited. 
In many parts of the country the wych-elm, or * witch- 
hazel,' as it is still often called, is considered a pre- 
servative against witches; probably from the coin- 
cidence between the words wych and witch ; and in 
some of the midland counties, even to the present day, 
a little cavity is made in the churn, to receive a small 
portion of witch-hazel, without which the dairy- 
maids imagine that they would not be able to obtain 
butter. 

There is a species called the American elm, of 
which the bark is said to be easily detached during 
eight months of the year ; and when so detached, it is 
soaked in water, rendered supple by pounding, and 
employed in the northern states of America in the 
form of shreds or ribands, for weaving into seats for 
common chairs, as rushes are in England. Another 
American kind, called the Red elm, yields leaves and 
branch-bark, which when macerated in water give a 
thick and abundant mucilage, used as a refreshing 
drink for colds and for emollient plasters. 



7%e Pasturage of Beet. — Next to the situation of the bee- 
hive is the consideration of the bees' pasturage. When there ij 
plenty of the white Dutch clover, sometimes called honeysuckle, 
it is sure to be a good honey year. The red clover is too deep 
for the poboscis of the common bee, and is therefore not so use- 
ful to them as is generally thought Many list* have been made 
of bee-flowers, and of such as should be planted round the 
apiary. Mignionette, and borage and rosemary, and bugloss, and 
lavender, the crocus for the early spring, and the ivy flowers fur 
the late autumn, might help to furnish a very pretty bee-garden ; 
and the lime and liquid umber, the horse-chestnut, and the 
sallow, would be the best trees to plant around. Dr. Bevan 
makes a very good suggestion, that lemon-thyme should be 
used as an edging for garden-walks and flower-beds, instead of 
box, thrift, or daisies. That any material good, however, can be 
done to a large colony by the few plants that, under the roost 
favourable circumstances, can be sown around a bee-house, is, of 
course, out of the question. The bee is too much of a roamer 
to take pleasure in trim gardens. It is the wild tracts of heath 
and furse, the broad acres of bean-fields and buck-wheat, the 
lime avenues, the hedgerow flowers, and the clover meadows that 
furnish his haunts and fill his cell. Still it may be useful for 
the young and weak bees to have food as near as possible to their 
home ; and to those who wish to watch their habits, a plot of 
bee-flowers is indispensable. — Quarterly Review. 



The Kiwi.—\ bird of such auomalous structure as the Kiwi, 
differing as it does from all other birds, although roost nearly 
related to the Struthious order, and having habits peculiar to 
itself, had attracted my most eager attention. It is now rapidly 
becoming extinct. If it be true that, as the natives assert, the 
kiwi is found on Little Barrier Island, which is uuiuhabited, and 
is situated about nine miles from the main — this fact would give 
rise to curious geological speculations. How did a bird which 
cannot fly — for its wings, so to speak, are nothing but small 
crooked appendages, each about an inch and a half loug, and 
terminating in a claw— come across the sea to that island ? It 
would appear that no other answer can be given than that the 
island was formerly connected with the main. The kiwi, or 
kiwi-kiwi, as it is called by the natives, inhabits the deepest re- 
cesses of the forest. Here, where gigantic trees are interwoveu 



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almost impenetrably with climbers, and where in the indenta- 
tions of the mountains are formed small open and swampy spots, 
covered by bulrushes and tufts of a high carex, or a liliaceous 
plant, the Hamelinia veratroides, is its favourite resort. Here it 
hides itself in the hollows of trees during the day, being a truly 
nocturnal bird. It generally lives in pairs, male and female, 
one pair occupying a certain district. As soou as night sets in, it 
leaves these hiding-places in search of food : this consists of the 
larvae of coleopterous and lepidopterous insects, which it scratches 
out with its powerful feet, or turns up with its long slender beak. 
But insects seem not to be its only rood, as seeds have been 
found in its stomach. Little is known as to the nidification and 
incubation of the kiwi ; but I have ascertained the following 
particulars from the natives :— They say that it burrows with its 
feet, and hollows out to a greater extent excavations already 
existiug under the roots of trees $ and in them, ou a single layer 
of grass, it lays one egg of a greenish colour, and as large as a 
turkey's egg. They also assert that the male and the female hatch 
alternately. Their notion as to the period of incubation is rather 
curious, as they say that the birds sit for several months upon 
the egg. During the night, the shrill cry of the kiwi is often 
heard ; the male utters the sound hoire, hoire t hoire ; the females, 
ho, ho, ho. By imitating these notes, the natives decoy the kiwi, 
and catch them with the help of a dog, or bewilder them by sud- 
denly displaying a torch made of the resinous hauri-pine, by 
which plan they catch them alive. A violent struggle generally 
ensues between the dog and the bird, in which the kiwi uses its 
powerful legs with great effect. It is said to be very swift in 
running, although its feet do not seem better adapted for mat 
purpose than that of the common fowl. Formerly, the kiwi 
served the natives for food ; it is very fat at some seasons, and 
its flesh is said to be well-tasted ; its skin, which is remarkably 
strong and tough, especially along the back, was sewn together, 
and formed highly valued mats. Never having seen one of 
these mats, I readily concluded that the bird itself had become 
, very scarce. I possess, however, fish-hooks, to which the feathers 
of the kiwi are attached as artificial flies j and to that purpose 
they are well adapted. — Dio ffe nbac K t Travel* in New Zealand. 



Beet in Surinam,— *On the lfith I was visited by a neighbour* 
nig gentleman, whom I conducted tip my ladder t but he had 
no sooner entered my aerial dwelling than he leaped down from 
the top to the ground, rearing like a madman with agony and 

Eain, after which he instantly plunged his head into the river ; 
ut, looking up, I soon discovered the cause of his distress to be 
an immense nest of wild bees, or Watttee Watt**, in the thatch 
immediately above my head, as I stood within my door, when I 
immediately took to my heels, as he had done, and ordered them 
to be destroyed by my slaves without delay. A tar-mop was 
now brought, and the devastation just going to commence, when 
an old negro stepped up and offered to receive any punishment 
I should decree, if even one of these bees should sting me in 
person. " Massa," said Ire, " they Would have stung you long 
ere now had you been a s tran g er to them; but they, being your 
tenants, that is, gradually allowed to build upon your premises, 
they assuredly know you and yours, and will never hurt either 
you or them." I instantly assented to the proposition, and tying 
the old man to a tree, ordered my boy Quaco to ascend the 
ladder quite naked, which he did, and was not stung. I then 
ventured to follow ; and declare, upon my honour, that even 
after shaking the nest, which made the inhabitants buic about 
my ears, not a single one attempted to stng me. I next released 
the old negro, and rewarded him with a gallon of rum and four 
shillings for the discovery. The swarm of bees I since kept un- 
hurt, as my body guard, aud they have made my overseers take 
a desperate leap for my amusement, as I generally sent them up 
my ladder on some frivolous message, when I wished to punish 
them for injustice and cruelty, which was not seldom.— Cotfo* 'I 
Bee-Book. 

Commerce among the Ancient Romans. -^l know of only one 
fact which seems to indicate the existence of a commercial spirit 
amongst the Romans at the period with which we are now en- 
gaged (the third century a.c). The commercial spirit of the 
Romans had no time to develop itself; the invasion of Hanni- 
bal was fatal to the security, and much mote to the acquisition, 
of capital; and after the struggle was over, society had under- 
gone a change, which fixed the attention of the people on other 
objects, Trade therefore contributed bat little to the greatness 
of Rome; indeed, it is {ridiculous to speak of the trade of a 



country where some of the simplest callings were as yet un- 
known, and where silver money had been coined for the first 
time only five years before the first Punic war. Were the 
manners of Rome then as pure as those writers would ima- 
gine, who consider an agricultural people to be placed in so 
much healthier a moral condition than a commercial or manu- 
facturing onef Undoubtedly the Roman character, before the 
second Punic war, was full of nobleness ; but it is idle to con- 
nect its excellence with the preference given to agriculture, rather 
than to trade. The Roman people were as yet in the youth of 
their existence; and their minds enjoyed a youthful freshness. 
They had not lost the feelings of admiration aud veneration; 
feelings which knowledge and experience, inasmuch as their 
field is an evil world, surely lessen ; feelings whose destruction 
is the worst degradation of human nature.— ^rwoWs Rome, 
vol. lit. 

New Zealand Superstiiiotis.—M.vu, according to the notions of 
the natives, is endowed with an immortal, incorporeal spirit, 
which at his death departs from the body, and goes as a falling 
star to the nether world, the entrance to which is down the face 
of a rocky cliff at the Cape Maria van Diemen. An ancient 
tree stands there, upon the branches of which the spirit descends. 
The natives hold this place in great awe and veneration ; and 
even Christian natives who accompanied me would not go near 
it. But the spell has been partially broken by a missionary 
cutting off the branch of the tret on which the spirit was sup- 
posed to alight. In the interior the natives still adhere to their 
ancient notions. The lower world is the common dwelling-place 
of spirits, but it is not the only one. Before the spirit of au 
hereditary chief descends into it, it goes into Heaven ; there his 
left eye remains, and becomes a star. In the lower world the 
spirits live as men do on earth ; but they cannot leave it, aud 
influence the actions and the fate of those who are alive, com- 
municating with them through the medium of the priest, who 
bears them. Their voice has a whistling sound, which others 
besides the priests sometimes perceive, when they walk out in 
the dark. If travellers come into the neighbourhood of the in- 
fernal regions, they throw down a piece of fern or of the slikaw- 
palm, to let the spirits know whether the wanderers are inhabit- 
ants of the open land or of forest. The spirits often speak in 
dreams to the priest or chief, who announces their communica- 
tions in the moons ; and these often lead to important resolu- 
tions. The belief iu dreams is universal, and the commands 
given in that way are implicitly obeyed, and often influence, 
their most important actions.— Duffenback's Travel* in New 
Zealand. _ 

A Christian Community. — The St. Kilda community may in 
many respects be regarded as a small republic, in which the in- 
dividual members share most of their worldly goods in common; 
and, with the exception of the minister, no one seems to differ 
from his neighbour in rank, fortune, or condition. Indeed a 
peculiar jealousy is alleged to exist on this head, no man being 
encouraged to go in advance of those about him in anything, 
which of course must be a drawback on improvement How- 
ever, many kind and Christian features are engrafted on the 
system, such as widows and orphans, or others unable to main- 
tain themselves, being supported by the community, in equal 
proportions. They are frequently very ill off during stormy 
weather, or those periods of the year in which the rocks are de- 
serted by their winged inhabitants. Their slight supply of oats 
and barley would scarcely suffice for the sustenance of life ; and, 
such is the injurious effect of the Spray in Winter, even on their 
hardiest vegetation, that savoys and German (or curly) greens, 
which with us are improved by the winter's cold, almost inva- 
riably perish Soon after the close of the autumn. This> how- 
ever, is not owing to the rigour of the climate, but to the salt, 
ness of the spray which the boisterous winds of winter carry 
up from the turmoil of the raging shores, and spread upon 
the surrounding vegetation. This the minister has endeavoured 
to prevent by having recently raised a stone dyke of ten feet 
high around a small enclosure in which his cabbages lie 
ensconced. In other respects, in truth, the climate is extremely 
mild, the ice which is formed, even during the coldest night in 
winter, being scarcely thicker than a penny, and usually melting 
away, if the sun is at all visible, in the course of the ensuing 
day.— Wiltons Foyage round the Coattt of Scotland. 



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[Ancient Tower at Newport, U. S.] 



ANCIENT BUILDING IN NORTH AMERICA. 

The readers of Cooper's novels will without doubt 
remember a scene near the beginning of his * Red 
Hover,' which is represented as occurring at Newport, 
in Rhode Island, in a small ruined tower or circular 
building standing on rude pillars connected by arches, 
which he says might have been constructed in the in- 
fancy of the colony as a place of defence, but which 
the townspeople were of opinion had been formerly a 
mill. The Royal Society of Northern Antiquarians 
established at Copenhagen have recently published 
some views of this ancient structure, from one of 
which, somewhat enlarged, our woodcut is taken ; to- 
gether with a description sent from Boston by Dr. 
Webb of that place, who is inclined to think it a ge- 
nuine relic of the ancient Scandinavians, the ante- 
Columbian discoverers of America. Proofs of the 
early occupation of the western shores of that con- 
tinent by those intrepid mariners have been zealously 
accumulated by the Society, and much of the docu- 
mentary evidence of their discoveries at the close of 
the tenth century carefully edited and published, and 
an abstract of which we have given in No. 733. The 
building in question is placed upon the most likely 
spot in Vinland for the settlement of a maritime 
people. # 

Dr. Webb describes the building as situated near 
the summit of the hill upon which the upper part or 
rear of the town of Newport stands ; he states that it 
is built of rough pieces of greywacke stone, laid in 
courses, strongly cemented by a mortar of sand and 
gravel of excellent quality, which nearly equals the 
stone itself in hardness ; and that it appears to have 
been at some former period covered witn a stucco of 
similar character to tne cement with which the stone 
is held together. It is nearly twenty-five feet in 

no. 762. 



height ; its diameter outside is twenty-three feet, and 
inside eighteen feet nine inches. It is circular, and is 
supported upon eight arches resting on thick columns 
about ten feet high; the height of the centres of the 
arches from the ground is twelve feet six inches. The 
foundation extends to the depth of four or five feet. 

The columns are peculiar, having only half capitals, 
which seem to have been simply rounded slabs of 
stone, of which the part projecting on the inside had 
been cut away ; hollows are formed in the interior of 
the walls at some little height above the arches, as 
though intended to receive the ends of beams and 
rafters to support a floor, which formerly was there, 
according to the testimony of some of the older in- 
habitants of Newport, and which is supposed in the 
scene described by Cooper. The building is pierced 
by two windows, one of which is seen in the woodcut. 
The tradition of the town is, that it had once a circular 
roof, and that it bad been used successively as a wind- 
mill, a place for stowing hay, and a powder-magazine. 

Professor Rafn, the secretary of the Society of 
Northern Antiquarians, in a notice of this building, 
argues, from the complete absence in America of any 
work of similar nature to that under consideration, 
and from the resemblance which it bears to some other 
buildings of the Scandinavians in Europe, that this 
must be a genuine relic of the ante-Columbian colo- 
nists; and he reasonably enough accounts for the ab- 
sence of many such remains by the circumstance that 
the country abounded in wood, a material which was 
in those ages, and is even now, preferred for building 
throughout the extensive regions inhabited by the 
Scandinavians, whose wooden houses and churches are 
mentioned by all travellers in Norway and Lapland ; 
while the many remains of stone buildings by the same 
people found in Greenland, which must have been 
nearly contemporary with the ante-Columbian occupa- 

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tion of America, only show that stone was the only 
available material for building in that arctic country, 
where the little wood used is stated in the ancient 
chronicles of Iceland to have been imported from 
America (Vinland), or found on the opposite shore of 
Baffin's Bay, where drift-wood is said to accumulate 
much more than on the coast occupied by the colonists 
from Denmark. 

Professor Rafn remarks, on the architecture of the 
building, that it is in the ante-Gothic style, which was 
common in the north and west of Europe from the 
eighth to the twelfth centuries ; the circular form, the 
low columns, their thickness in proportion to their 
distance from each other, and the entire want of orna- 
ment, all point out this epoch. He gives plates of 
three churches in Denmark, in corroboration of his 
opinion: the first is that of Vestervig in Jutland, 
founded in 1110, in honour of St. Theodgar; the se- 
cond is that of the crypt under the cathedral of Viborg, 
of near the same date ; the third is the church of Bier- 
nede, near Sorci in Sioeiand, built in the middle of the 
same century. In all these, the low columns and 
arches, with the circular arrangement, are quite in 
the style of the American edifice, although the latter 
has less ornament of any kind. He cites, moreover, 
four churches in Biornholm, and one at Thorsager in 
Jutland, all of the circular form ; as well as some 
ruins of circular buildings in Greenland, near the 
churches of Igalikko, Kakortok, and Iglorsoit, which 
are conjectured to have been baptisteries; and this 
Professor Rafn supposes might have been the destina- 
tion of the Newport structure, for he considers the 
windowB and holes in the body of the building to have 
been additions, made in it by the recent colonists, when 
they converted it to a mill, a magazine, and a hay- 
loft. 

The first certain mention of this curious relic is in 
the will of Governor Arnold, dated in 1678, in which 
he bequeaths his " stone-built windmill " with other 
property. This was just forty years after the island 
nad been settled. In a journal kept by Peter Easton, 
one of the first inhabitants, who appears to have mi- 
nutely recorded all the occurrences of the settlement, 
the building of the first mill in the colony is noted, 
under the year 1663, in half-a-dozen words; but Dr. 
Webb is of opinion that if this building were the one 
intended, it would hardly have been so summarily dis- 
missed ; doubtless concluding that a stone edifice of so 
much more imposing structure than any other of 
the colony would have demanded a more specific 
mention. 

After what has been stated on this matter, it must 
appear doubtful whether or not this is a genuine relic 
of the ancient Scandinavian colony ; there is assuredly 
not evidence enough of its authenticity to produce a 
conviction of the existence of such a colony in those 
who do not receive the evidence of the Icelandic Sagas 
before alluded to ; but if these Sagas be admitted as 
conclusive of its existence, which we feel their circum- 
stantiality fully deserves, then the building we have 
described may be added to the other evidences found 
in America, such as arrow-heads, bracelets, fibulae, 
bronze ornaments, and even a Runic inscription, un- 
fortunately undecypherable, as corroborative of the 
events detailed in those curious historical documents. 



THE SOURCES AND USES OF GYPSUM. 

The names Gypsum, Sulphate of Lime, Plaster of Paris, 
and Alabaster refer to four substances which, however 
different they may appear, or to however different 
purposes applied, are pretty much the same. They 
are, it is true, subject to certain chemical modifications 
before one can assume the form of the other ; but still 



Gypsum, Plaster of Paris, and one of the two varieties 
of Alabaster, are all Sulphates of Lime. We will shortly 
notice the differences between them, the sources whence 
they are obtained, and the principal purposes to which 
they are applied in the arts. One of the excellent 
papers in Mr. Aikin's " Illustrations*' of arts and ma- 
nufactures will afford valuable aid to this object 

When sulphate of lime is in a compact and crystal- 
line state, it is called gypsum, or alabaster, or selenite, 
according to the subtorms which it assumes; but 
when it occurs as a soft chalky stone, which by the 
application of heat gives out its water of crystallization 
and becomes a very fine white powder, it is called 
plaster of Paris, or rather, the soft stone still retains 
the name of gypsum, while this other name is ap- 
plied to the powder produced from it. 

Gypsum is found in the formation called the London 
clay, but not in such quantities as to be available for 
commercial purposes. Mr. Aikin says that he has 
frequently observed gypsum in situations where it is 
not generally looked for. For instance, when the 
deep cutting for the Highgate archway was made, the 
clods of earth as they were dug presented the ordinary 
uniform appearance of clay ; but after exposure for a 
year or more to the air and the rain, they nad become 
rough with projecting crystals of gypsum, from an 
eighth to a quarter of an inch in length, formed doubt- 
less by the action of the rain on the clay, which, by dis- 
solving the gypsum, enabled it to separate from the 
other ingredients by crystallization. 

At Montmartre near Paris are gypsum-quarries of 
great celebrity, not only for the mineral which they 
yield, but for the imbedded fossils which enabled 
Cuvier to make such vast progress in the study of 
fossil geology. The Paris Dasin, or bed of clay on 
which the city is built, is considered to be somewhat 
similar to the material of the London basin, but with 
a larger proportion of calcareous matter. The lime or 
gypsum, too, has separated itself more completely from 
the clay than in London, and hence yields masses more 
fitted for quarrying. There are three or four of these 
beds in the Paris district, of which one is more cele- 
brated than the rest for yielding the gypsum after- 
wards converted into plaster of Paris— whence the 
name. 

In various parts of England gypsum is found in 
small clusters of crystals imbedded in clay. The 
Weald clay contains the Petworth marble; a brown 
clay found near Purbeck has in it a quarry of gypsum 
actually worked ; and the Oxford clay near Shotover 
Hill contains crystals of gypsum. It is in the new red 
sandstone, however, that the greatest quantity occurs, 
frequently in connection either with brine-springs or 
with beds of rock-salt. The whole of the midland 
counties are more or less supplied with this mineral, 
varying greatly in quality in different places, and 
therefore fitted for very different purposes. In the 
more eastern counties the gypsum comes nearer to the 
surface than in the western, and are therefore more 
easily quarried. Near Newark in Nottinghamshire 
is found a kind of gypsum which produces finer plas- 
ter of Paris than any other either here or abroad. The 
Paris gypsum, which used to be preferred for plaster- 
casting, is found to be less white and more earthy than 
the Newark kind ; and hence the Parisian artists them- 
selves have come to make use of the latter. Several 
quarries exist near Newark, at which a large number 
of persons are employed. 

The uses to which gypsum is applied are very varied. 
In early times the pure and crystalline specimens, if 
of large size, were used as a substitute for glass in 
windows. This may appear strange ; but a well- 
formed crystal of gypsum is of a rhomboidal shape, 
and is capable of being split into very thin laminae. 



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which laminae, being semi-transparent, may be used as 
substitutes for glass. 

The Montmartre gypsum, and many varieties found 
in England, are used extensively in the preparation 
of mortar or cement for building purposes. Such 
varieties generally contain a portion of carbonate of 
lime, in addition to the sulphate which forms the gyp- 
sum. In order to prepare this kind of gypsum for 
the purposes of cement, it is necessary to apply heat 
enough to drive off the water of crystallization and 
part of the carbonic acid ; and this is done at Mont- 
martre in the following manner:— The gypsum is 
quarried in lumps about the size of a large clenched 
hand, and weighing from two to three pounds each. 
It is stored up for use under a shed, as great import- 
ance is attached to the gypsum going quite dry into 
the kiln, in order that the proportion of fuel may be 
duly regulated. The kiln is a space ten feet long, 
bounded on the two sides and one end by walls, of 
which the latter is the highest ; the whole being built 
in the open air, but protected from rain. Within this 
space four or five longitudinal walls are built up of the 
most regularly shaped lumps of gypsum to the height 
of the outer side-walls, the intervals filled up with 
billet-wood and faggots, and arches of gypsum are built 
over them with sufficient attention to accuracy of con- 
struction that they shall not fall in when the fuel is 
consumed ; an aperture about six inches' space is left 
adjoining the end wall, to produce a sufficient draught 
through the kiln. Over the whole of the arches or 
vaulted space, thin alternate layers of charcoal or dry 
wood and pieces of gypsum are placed to the height of 
eighteen or twenty inches. The kiln being thus com- 
pleted, fire is applied at the front of the flues, and the 
neat is maintained by further supplies of billet-wood, 
for from twenty-four to about forty hours, according 
to the quantity of gypsum and the quality of the fuel, 
till the calcination is finished. 

The gypsum so burned is often separated into three 
different qualities, to be applied to different purposes. 
The superfine consists of the picked stones, which 
when broken present a perfectly white appearance, 
free from any marl', earth, or other impure matter, and 
if any exist it is cut away, the stone again calcined, 
and finally ground to the state of the finest powder ; 
this is used for busts, statues, and the finest and most 
delicate castings. The second quality is not fine 
enough for these purposes, but is still fitted for casting 
the generality of ornaments. The lowest or coarsest 
quality is used for plastering or "stucco" of various 
kinds. 

The cement made of calcined gypsum mixed with 
sand is much used as a mortar for stone-work in 
Paris. When employed as a covering for floors, it is 
thus prepared :— it is first dried at a very gentle heat, 
then pulverized either in hand-mortars or in mills, 
and lastly boiled. This boiling is noMhc kind of pro- 
cess usually understood by this term, but consists in 
putting the powder by itself in an iron pot over the 
fire. The particles which arc at the bottom are of 
course soonest heated, and their water of crystalliza- 
tion is converted into steam, which bubbles up through 
the mass of powder, and gives to the whole the ap- 
pearance oi boiling. When the water is all thus 
driven off, the gypsum is in a fit state for use as a 
plaster for floors. 

The gypsum found in Derbyshire is for the most 
part applied to purposes very different from the above. 
The coarser varieties are employed in the neighbour- 
hood of Derby for floors of cottages and farm-houses ; 
but the better kinds are sent by canal to the Stafford- 
shire potteries, where it is employed in making the 
mourns for forming some of the better kinds of earth- 
enware, and, in a smaller degree, as one ingredient in 



the earthenware itself. The very finest specimens 
found in Derbyshire are, however, otherwise appro- 
priated ; they are reserved for ornamental purposes, 
being formed by carving and turning into vases, small 
statues, and other figures, of which great numbers arc 
manufactured at Derby. This is one of the two kinds 
of alabaster, which produce such delicate little orna- 
ments, having a softness of appearance, and a delicate 
whiteness which scarcely any other material can 
equal. Carbonate of lime forms the harder kind of 
alabaster ; while sulphate of lime, or gypsum, is soft, 
fragile, and of such delicate and sensitive colour that 
stains are easily produced and with difficulty removed : 
hence the practice of preserving alabaster specimens 
under glass covers. For further details respecting 
alabaster ornaments, we may refer to a paper in No. 
425. 

The employment of gypsum for figures and casts is, 
next to alabaster, the most delicate and pure. The 
operation depends on the following grounds : — When 
gypsum has been deprived of its water by exposure to 
heat, and has been reduced to a fine powder, it is ca- 
pable, by mixture with water, of being brought to the 
consistence of a pulp ; this pulp in a short time sets, 
or becomes solid, a very sensible degree of heat being 
given out by the mixture during the act of consolida- 
tion ; if, therefore, the pulp be poured into a mould, it 
assumes on consolidating the figure of the cavity into 
which it had been poured. 

While speaking of the Newark gypsum used for 
figure-casting, Mr. Aikin mentions a gypsum-burner 
who was celebrated some few years ago for the extra- 
ordinary care with which he prepared the gypsum. 
"To such perfection in his art had this person at- 
tained, that different parcels of his plaster would not 
vary ten seconds in their time of setting during a pe- 
riod of five years or more. The gypsum was procured 
from Newark, and by special agreement it was quar- 
ried in dry weather, and stacked under covered sheds 
previous to being shipped for London. It was con- 
veyed from the ship to Mr. Rogers's premises in 
decked barges, and every possible care was taken to 
prevent it from becoming wet. It was next sorted 
into three qualities. The first, or coarsest, was of a 
brown colour, and consisted of the outer part of each 
lump or block ; the second was of a dingy or dirty 
white, and occupied the intermediate part of the 
block ; the third, being the best or finest, was the cen- 
tral part." The calcining was effected in ovens, as at 
Montmartre, but with especial care to the production 
of the most perfect kind of powder. 

The mechanical processes of figure-casting — includ- 
ing the making of the mould, the difference between 
waste moulds and safe moulds, the mixing of the liquid 
plaster, and the making of the cast— having been de- 
scribed in No. 419, need not be entered on here. 

Gypsum is a very frequent ingredient in the water 
of springs and rivers, and such waters belong to the 
class of hard water ; they have a flat taste, and are 
unfitted for washing on account of their curdling the 
soap. Water containing gypsum modifies the tints of 
animal and vegetable colours, and therefore dyers, 
bleachers, and the makers of colours have very dif- 
ferent degrees of success according as the water they 
employ does or does not contain gypsum. The same 
ingredients employed in dyeing silk in London will 
not produce so brilliant a hue as at Lyons, because the 
water employed at the former is more likely to be 
tainted with gypsum. 

Gvpsum is a valuable manure. A practical writer 
in the * Penny Cyclopaedia,* after speaking of its use 
on the Continent, observes:— •• In Englaud the result 
of experiments with gypsum has not always been so 
favourable, and the use of that manure has not been so 



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generally adopted. In some instances the benefit was 
evident ; in others not even perceptible. The doubt 
thus thrown on its efficacy has caused it to be neg- 
lected. In our opinion, the condemnation of it is not 
founded on solid grounds. It is allowed that in cold 
wet soils its effects, as also that of bones, are not very 
encouraging, nor in very poor soils; but in good 
loams containing a due proportion of humus, and 
on all light and dry soils whicn are not very poor, or 
have had a due portion of manure, its effects are 
striking. We have ourselves experienced the benefits 
of gypsum, not only on clover, but on peas, tares, and 
beans, where the soil was in good heart and well 
drained. The portions of a field sown with gypsum 
were decidedly superior in vigour and luxuriance of 
growth to those where it had not been used. So far 
we can bear testimony to its use." 



' Lancashire Oat-Cakts.— The Rev. J. Ray, A.M., F.R.S., in 
his list of North-country worths, has the following in explanation 
of the word " Bannock :*' — An oat-cake kneaded with water only, 
and baked in the embers. In Lancashire, and other parts of the 
north, they make several sorts of oaten bread, which they call by 
several names; as, 1. Thar-cakes, the same with bannocks, vis. 
cakes made of oatmeal as it comes from the mill, and fair water, 
Without yeast or leaven, and so baked. 2. Clap-bread; thin 
hard oat- cakes. 3. Kitchiness-bread ; thin soft oat-cakes, made 
of thin hatter. 4. Riddle-cakes/ thick sour cakes, from which 
differs little that which they call hand-hoven bread, having but 
little leaven, and being kneaded stiffen 5. Jannock; oaten 
bread made up in loaves. 



Harmony of Colours. — It is of some importance that the laws 
of harmonious colouring should not be neglected even in so 
simple a matter as the painting of sticks for the support of flowers. 
Where the habit of a plant is such as to require artificial sup- 
port, the object which gives that support should as much as 
possible be kept out of sight ; and the bright greens so frequently, 
indeed almost universally, used for this purpose, are therefore ob- 
jectionable. Mrs. Loudon, in one of her works on gardening, re- 
commends that pinks, carnations, dahlias, and other plants be tied 
I o sticks painted in neutral tint, or the colour of ash poles. These 
colours are of a quiet unobtrusive character, and the flowers 
consequently display themselves to greater advantage. Flower- 
pots are also frequently painted in colours which o fiend the eye, 
because the colours generally used for this purpose are too glaring, 
and therefore tend to draw the attention of the spectator from the 
plant; besides disturbing that harmony which is calculated as 
much to gratify the eye as " concord of sweet sounds" the culti- 
vated ear. — From a Correspondent. 



r Character of Hannibal.— If fhe characters of men be estimated 
according to the steadiness with which they have followed the 
true principle of action, we cannot assign a high place to Han- 
nibal. But if patriotism were indeed the greatest of virtues, and 
a resolute devotion to the interests of. his country were all the 
duty that a public man can be expected to fulfil, he would then 
deserve the most lavish praise. Nothing can be more unjust 
than the ridicule with which Juvenal has treated his motives, as 
if he had been actuated merely by romantic desire of glory. On 
the contrary, his whole conduct displays the loftiest genius and 
the boldest spirit of enterprise, happily subdued and directed 
by a cool judgment, to the furtherance of the honour and inte- 
rests of his country ; and his sacrifice of selfish pride and passion, 
when after the battle of Zama he urged the acceptance of peace, 
and lived to support the disgrace of Carthage with the putient 
hope of one day repairing it, affords a strong contrast to the 
cowardly despair with which some of the best of the Romans de- 
prived their country of their services by suicide. Of the extent 
of his abilities, the history of his life is the best evidence : as a 

Enteral, his conduct remains uncharged with a single error. 
Is knowledge of human nature and his ascendency over men's 
minds are shown by the uninterrupted authority which he exer- 
cised alike in his prosperity and adversity over an army com- 



posed of so many various and discordant materials, and which 
had no other bond than the personal character of their leader. 
As a statesman, he was at once manly, disinterested, and sensible ; 
a real reformer of abuses in his domestic policy, and in his 
measures, with respect to foreign enemies, keeping the just limit 
between weakness and blind obstinacy. He stands reproached, 
however, with covetousnees by the Carthaginians, and with 
cruelty by the Romans. The first charge is* sustained by no 
facts that have been transmitted to us; and it is a curious cir- 
cumstance, that the very same vice was long imputed by party 
violence to the great Duke of Marlborough, and that the impu- 
tation has been lately proved by his biographer to have been 
utterly calumnious. Of cruelty, according to modern princi- 
ples, he cannot be acquitted. — Arnold* Rome, vol. iii. 



Frontier Settling in America.- — Take the following case as an 
illustration of the process that is continually going on on the 
frontier: — A man removes to the west; be purchases a piece of 
ground, builds a house, and devotes himself to the clearing and 
tillage of his forest acres. Ere long he has rescued a farm from 
the wilderness, and has reared a family upon it. He then divides 
his land among his sons, if there be enough for a farm to each of 
them ; if not, each receives money enough to buy one, as he 
comes to age. Some may settle on lands bestowed on them by 
their father; others, preferring a change, may dispose of their 
portion, and proceed, most commonly unmarried, to " the frontier 
country," as it is called, that is, to those parts of the west where 
the public lands are not yet sold. There he chooses out as much 
as he can conveniently pay for, receiving a title to it from the 
district land-office, and proceeds to make for himself a home. 
This is likely to be in the spring. Having selected a spot for his 
dwelling, generally near some spring, or where water may be had 
by digging a well, he goes round, and makes the acquaintance 
of his neighbours residing withm the distance, it may lie, of 
several miles. A day is fixed for building him a house, upon 
which those neighbours come, and render him such efficient 
help, that in a single day he will find a log-house constructed, 
ana perhaps covered with clap-boards, and haviirg apertures cut 
out for the doors, windows, and chimney. He makes his floor 
at once of rough boards riven from the abundant timber of the 
surrounding forest, constructs his doors, and erects a chimney. 
Occupy iug himself, while interrupted in out-door work by rainy 
weather, in completing his house, he finds it in a few weeks 
tolerably comfortable; and, during fair weather, he clears the 
underwood from some ten or fifteen acres, kills the large trees by 
notching them round so as to arrest the rise of the sap, and sows 
the ground with Indian corn, or maize, as it is called in Rurope. 
He can easily make, buy, or hire a plough, a harrow, and a hoe 
or two. If he find time, he surrounds his field with a fence of 
stakes. At length, after prolonging his stay until his crop is 
beyond the risk of serious injury from squirrels and bird?, or 
from weeds, he shuts up his house, commits it to the care of 
some neighbour, living one or two miles off, and returns to his 
paternal home, which may be from fifty to three hundred miles 
distant from his new settlement. There he stays until the month 
of September, then marries, and with his young wife, a waggou 
and pair of horses to carry their effects, a few cattle or sheep, or 
non$ according to circumstances, sets out to settle for life in the 
wilderness. Ou arriving at his farm, he sows wheat or rye 
among his standing Indian corn, then gathers in this last, and 
prepares for the winter. His wife shares all the cares incident 
to this humble beginning. Accustomed to every kind of house- 
hold work, she strives by the diligence of her fingers to avoid the 
necessity of going to the merchant who has opened his store at 
some village among the trees, perhaps some miles off, and there 
laying out the little mouey they may have left. With economy 
and health they gradually become prosperous. The primitive 
log-house gives place to a far better mansion, constructed of 
hewn logs or of boards, or of brick or stone. Extensive and 
well fenced fields spread around, ample barns stored with grain, 
stalls filled with horses and cattle, flocks of sheep, and herds of 
hogs, all attest the increasing wealth of the owners. Their chil- 
dren grow up perhaps to pursue the same course, or, as their 
inclinations may lead, to choose some other occupation, or to 
enter one of the learned professions. — Rev. Robt. Bard's Religion 
in the United States. 



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[The Boar at the Stake] 

HUDIBRAS.— No. III. 

[Continued from page 32. J 

The wordy war of which we have spoken grew hotter 
and more inveterate. The results were such as might 
have been expected. Both parties, angry and un- 
conciliating, were possessed with the same feeling 
attributed to the hero in canto ii., part ii. : 
" Quoth Hud i bras, ' It is in vain, 

I see, to argue 'gainst the grain ; 

Or, like the stars, incline men to 

What they 're averse themselves to do : 

For when disputes are weary d out, 

Tis interest still resolves the doubt. 

Rut since no reason can confute ye, 

I'll try to force you to your duty.' M 

All men were now prepared to 

" Prove their doctrine orthodox 
By apostolic blows and knocks ;" 



and 



" Then did Sir Knight abandon dwelling, 
And out he rode a colonelling." 



In what we have hitherto said, we have endeavoured 
incidentally to show that Butler in Hudibras depicted 
a class, and that he no more described a particular in- 
dividual in the man than he did in the horse he placed 
under him,* though no doubt Sir Samuel Luke affords 
a few points of resemblance*. A great poet does not 
condescend to write in riddles. Had he intended a 
portrait, the features would have been too distinctively 
marked to have been misunderstood. Indeed a most 
remarkable characteristic of the poem is, that though 
examples are selected from the non-conformist party, 

* Our artist, while he has delineated as perfect a jade as ever 
entered a knacker's yard or a poet's imagination, has deviated in 
a trifling matter from the poem : 

u His draggling tail hung in the dirt, 
Which ou his rider he would flirt.** 
This he has curtailed j but whether the defect be in the artist 
or the author, we must leave to our readers more learned in 
horse-flesh than we are to decide. For ourselves, the half-starved 
lagged-looking fail seems the more characteristic. 



the satire is actually applied to vices or follies of the 
most general kind, in which all sects are involved, and 
of which all men might be participant. The ridicule 
is in effect thrown unsparingly on hypocrisy and pre- 
tence of whatever kind. With the exception of a very 
few lines upon some of the more prominent, and to a 
churchman the more obnoxious, tenets of their sects, 
the characters of Hudibras and Ralph display nothing 
necessarily peculiar. Royalists might have been, and 
many were, pedants and helievers in astrology, subtle 
hair-splitting disputants, and greedy seekers of their 
own selfish purposes, cowards and boasters, with as 
little improbability as republicans or non-conformists. 
A striking example of this dexterous appropriation to 
his adversaries of a general and widely-spread custom 
is afforded in the burlesque invocation with which he 
preludes the first adventure of his pair of heroes. 
After alluding very generally to the customary 
usage — 

" We should, as learned poets use, 
Invoke th' assistance of some Muse ; 
However critics count it sillier 
Than jugglers talking to familiar ;'* 

he proceeds to ridicule the piactice of prefacing works 
with commendatory verses and portraits of the authors ; 
a practice, however, adopted by Shakspere and Milton, 
though doubtless imitated by many to whom the world 
afforded no echo of the laudations so bestowed, and 
takes as the representatives of the class, three writers 
from the ranks of the Dissenters, one of whom at least, 
Withers,* was infinitely superior to the Durfeys, 
Shad wells, and others of Butler's contemporaries : — 

"Thou that with ale, or viler liquors, 
Didst inspire Withers, Prynne, and Vickart, 
And force them, though it was in spite 
Of nature and their stars, to write ; 
Who, as we find in sullen writs, 
And cross-grain'd works of modem wits, 
With vanity, opinion, want, 
The wonder of the ignorant, 
The praises of the author, penned 
B' himself, or wit-insuring friend, 
The itch of picture in the front, 
With bays and wicked rhyme upon't, 
(All that is left o' th' forked hill) 
To make men sensible without skill ; 
Canst make a poet, spite of Fate, 
And teach all people to translate, 
Though out of languages in which 
They understand no part of speech : 
Assist me but this once, I 'mplore, 
And I shall trouble thee no more." 

Ralph, the squire, is described as an uneducated 
man, but a believer in the mystical reveries of Jacob 
Behmen : — 

" As learn'd as the wild Irish are j 
Or Sir Agrippa,f for profound 
And solid lying much renown'd,''— 

in alchemy, astrology, and the Rosicrusian lore : and 
as understanding 

" the speech of birds, 
As well as they themselves do words." 

The remainder of his character, like that of Hudi- 
bras, is made up rather from the features of a sort than 
of an individual. He is implied, rather than stated, 
to have been an Anabaptist, though the doctrinal 
points of the sect are not always adhered to by Ralph, 
out one of the tenets of the sect was that God made 

* More correctly Wither, or Wyther : he had been a major 
in the parliamentary army. 

f Cornelius Agrippa, alchemist, astrologer, and physician, a 
learned man, but a great quack, who died in 1535. 



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his will known to them by special inspiration. This 
was ridiculed by their opponents as the New Light: — 

'* By means of this, with hem and cough, 
Prolongers to enlightenM snulY, 
He could deep mysteries unriddle 
As easily as thread a needle. 
For as of vagabonds we say 
That they are ne'er beside their way; 
Whatever men speak by this New Light, 
Still they are sure to be i 1 th' right. 
Tis a dark lanthorn of the spirit, 
Which none see by but those who bear it ; 
A light that falls down from on high, 
For spiritual trades to cozen by ; 
An ignis fatuus that bewitches, 
And leads men into pools and ditches, 
To make them dip themselves, and sound 
For Christendom in dirty pond ; 
To dive, like wild fowl, for salvation, 
And fish to catch regeneration. 
This light inspires and plays upon 
The nose of saint like bagpipe drone, 
And speaks through hollow empty soul, 
As through a trunk, or whisp'riug hole, 
Such language as no mortal ear 
But spiritual eaves-droppers can hear : 
So Phoebus, or some friendly Muse, 
Into small poets song infuse, 
Which they at second-hand rehearse 
Thro* reed or bagpipe, verse (or verse/ 1 

« • • • • 

" Thus was th' accomplish* d squire endued 
With gifts and knowledge, per'lous shrewd. 
Never did trusty squire with knight, 
Or knight with squire, e'er jump more right. 
Their arms and equipage did tit, 
As well as virtues, parts, and wit. 
Their valours, too, were of a rate, 
And out they sallied at the gate." 

Their first adventure is encountering a rabble as- 
sembled at a bear-baiting, which is described with 
great minuteness and humour, and a sly hit is given at 
the sombre character of English amusements, which 
has been often since noticed by foreigners : — 
M To this town people did repair 

On days of market or of fair ; 

And to crack'd fiddle and hoarse tabor, 

In merriment did drudge and labour : 

But uow a sport more formidable 

Had rak'd together village rabble ; 

'Twos an old way of recreating, 

By learned butchers called bea^-baiting/ , 

The knight's ire, increased no doubt by his remem- 
brance of the • Book of Sports/ is excited, and he 
resolves to put it down : — 

" Thither the knight his course did steer, 
To keep the peace 'twixt dog and bear ; 
As he believ'd he was hound to do 
In conscience and commission too. 
And therefore thus bespoke the squire : 
* We that are wisely mounted higher 
Than constables in curule wit, 
When on tribunal bench we sit, 
Like speculators should foresee, 
From Pharos of authority, 
Portended mischief farther than 
Low proletarian tything-meti ; 
And therefore being informed by bruit 
That dog and bear are to dispute ; 
For so of late men fighting name, 
Because they often prove the samt> ; 
(For where the first does hap to be, 
The last does coincides -e), 
Quantum in nobis, have thought good 
To save th' expense of Christian blood, 
Aud try if we by mediation 
Of treaty aud accommodation 



Can end the quarrel, and compose 
The bloody duel without blows. 
Are not our liberties, our lives. 
The laws, religion, aud our wives, 
Enough at once to lie at stake 
For cov'nant and the cause's rake 1 
But in that quarrel dogs and bears, 
As well as we, must venture theirs f 
This feud, by Jesuits invented, 
By evil counsels is fomented ; 
There is a Machiavelian plot 
(Though every nose olfact it not), 
A deep design in 't to divide 
The well affected that confide, 
By settiug brother against brother, 
To claw and worry one another. 
- Have we not enemies plus salts, 
That cane et angue pejus hate us ? 
Aud shall we turn our fangs and claws 
Upon our own selves without cause? 
That some occult design doth lie 
In blood Cynarctomachy, 
Is plain enough to him that knows 
How saints lead brothers by the nose. 
I wish myself a pseudo-prophet, 
But sure some mischief will come of it, 
Unless by providential wit 
Or force we averruncate it 
For what design, what interest 
Can beast have to encounter beast ? 
They tight for no espoused cause, 
Faith, privilege, fundamental laws; 
Nor for a thorough reformation, 
Nor covenant, nor protestation, 
Nor liberty of consciences, 
Nor Lords' nor Commons* ordinances ; 
Nor for the church, nor for church lands, 
To get them in their own no hands ; 
Nor evil counsellors to bring 
To justice that seduce the king ; 
Nor for the worship of us men, 
Though we have done as much for them.* 1 

He goes on to trace the mysterious rjid irrelisrioua 
origin of "this lewd anti-Christian game :*' but Ralph 
is an Independent as well as an Anabaptist. 

" « To this,* quoth Ralpho, * verily, 
The point seems very plain to me : 
It is an anti-Christian game, 
Unlawful both in thing and name. 
First, for the name : the word bear-baiting 
Is carnal, and of man's creating ; 
For certainly there 's no such word 
In all the scripture on record : 
Therefore unlawful, and a sin ; 
And so is, secondly, the thing. 
A vile assembly 'tis, that can 
No more be prov'd by scripture than 
Provincial, Classic, National, 
Mere human creature-cobwebs all. 
Thirdly, it is idolatrous : 
For when men run a-whoring thus, 
With their inventions, whatsoe'er 
The thing be, whether dog or bear, 
It is idolatrous and Pagan, 
No less than worshipping of Dagon. 

41 Quoth Hudibras, * I smell a rat : 
Ralpho, thou dost prevaricate; 
For though the thesis which thou lay'st 
Be true, ad amussim, as thou say'st 
(For that bear-baiting should appear, 
Jure divino, lawfuller 
Than Synods are, thou dost deny, 
Totidem verbis, so do 1) : 
Yet tliere 's a fallacy in this ; 
For if by sly bomaeosis, 
Thou wouldst sopbistically imply 
Both are unlawful, I deny.' 

*' * And I,* quoth Ralpho, 'do not doubt 
But bear-baiting may be made out, 



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In gospel times, as lawful as is 

Provincial or parochial class is ; 

And that both are so near of kin, 

And like in all, as well as sin, 

That put 'em in a bag and shake 'em, 

Yourself o* th' sudden would mistake 'em, 

And not know which is which, unless 

You measure by their wickedness : 

For 'tis not hard t' imagine whether 

O* th' two are worst, though I name neither.' 1 

This opinion is controverted by the knight, but they 
agree at length to interfere to prevent the sport, the 
canto concludes, and 

«' Th' adventure of the Bear and Fiddle 
Is sung, but breaks off in the middle.*' 

We have, however, given rather a long specimen of 
. the knight's eloquence, in order to introduce the cha- 
racter of a pedant, which is here so admirably exem- 
plified, published amon^ Butler's ' Genuine Remains 
in Verse and Prose,' edited by Mr. It. Thyer, in two 
volumes, which, though less known, and comparatively 
scarce, contain such an abundance of wit and keen ob- 
servation, as to deserve a more extended publicity than 
they have obtained. 

" A Pedant is a dwarf scholar, that never outgrows the mode 
and fashion of the school where he should have been taught. 
He wears his little learning unmade up, puts it on, before it was 
half finished ; without pressing or smoothing. He studies and 
uses words with the greatest respect possible, merely for their 
own sakes, like an honest man, without any regard of interest, 
as they are useful and serviceable to things, and among those he 
is kindest to strangers (like a civil gentleman) that are far from 
their own country and most unknown. He collects old sayings 
and ends of verses as antiquaries do old coins, and is as glad to 
produce them upon all occasions. He lias sentences ready lying 
by him for all purposes, though to no one, and talks of authors 
as familiarly as his fellow-collegiate*. He will challenge 
acquaintance with those he never saw before, and pretend to in- 
timate knowledge of those he has otily heard of. He is well 
stored with terms of art, but does not know how to use them ; 
like a country fellow who carries his gloves in his hands, not his 
hands in his gloves. He handles arts and sciences like those that 
can play a little upon an instrument, but do not know whether 
it be in tune or not. He converses by the book, and does not 
talk, but quote. If he can but screw in something that an 
ancient writer said, he believes it to be much better than if he 
had something of himself to the purpose. His brain is not able 
to concoct what it takes in, and therefore brings things up as 
they were swallowed, that is, crude and undigested, in whole 
sentences; not assimilated sense, which he rather affects ; for his 
want of judgment, like want of health, renders his appetite pre- 
posterous. He pumps for affected and far-fetched expressions, 
and they always prove as far from the purpose. He admires 
canting above sense. He is worse than one that is utterly ignor- 
ant, as a cock that sees a little fights worse than one that is stark 
blind. He speaks a different dialect from other men, and much 
affects forced expressions, forgetting that hard words, as well as 
evil ones, corrupt good manners. He can do nothing, like a con- 
jurer, out of the circle of his art, nor in it without canting.'* 



RESULTS OF PENNY POSTAGE. 

Iw the parliamentary session of last year a Committee 
was appointed to inquire into the state of the Post- 
office, with a view of adopting such measures as might 
seem best for fully and fairly carrying into effect 
Mr. Rowland Hill's plans of Post-office improvement. 
The labours of the Committee were cut short by the 
termination of the session, and they found it imprac- 
ticable to make a Report. Even the evidence of Mr. 
Rowland Hill was not fully obtained in consequence 
of the late period of the session at which the Com- 
mittee was appointed. Mr. Rowland Hill has, how- 
ever, just published a pamphlet entitled 'The State 
and Prospects of Penny Postage/ in which his views 
on this most important and interesting question are 



I more fully developed. The following statements are 
I given in an abridged form from the pamphlet in 
question : — 

Mr. Hill first enumerated the improvements already 
effected, the chief of which are as follows : — 1. The 
uniform and low rate of one penny has been adopted 
as the general rate of postage throughout the United 
Kingdom. 2. Day-mails have been established on most 
of the principal lines from London, none of which ex- 
isted previously tc Mr. Hill's recommendation thereof; 
the plan having, nevertheless, originated with a gentle- 
mau whose claim to public gratitude for successful 
exertions in the cause of Post-office reform is well 
known, — Mr. Wallace, M.P. for Greenock. 3. On 
foreign and colonial letters the inland rates, as recom- 
mended by Mr. Hill, have been greatly reduced ; and 
in divers cases the sea-rates also lowered. 4. The use 
of money-orders has been very greatly extended by 
the adoption of Mr. Hill's recommendation to the 
Treasury for lowering the money-order fees. 

With respect to the results of these improvements, 
Mr. Hill stated that, in considering them, •' It will be 
necessary to take into account the extreme depression 
of trade which existed when the penny rate was esta- 
blished, and has continued to prevail ever since ; the 
very imperfect manner in which the plan has been 
carried into effect ; the want of due economy in the 
Post-office ; the well-known dislike to the measure en- 
tertained by many of those persons to whom its execu- 
tion has been entrusted, and the influence such dislike 
must necessarily have had on its success. 1 ' He then 
showed that, even under these disadvantages, the 
number of chargeable letters delivered in the United 
Kingdom had increased from 75 millions in 1836 to 
207 millions in 1842 (the third year of penny postage). 
Also that at the commencement of 1843 the chargeable 
letters were at the rate of 219 millions per annum, or 
nearly threefold the former amount. While the in- 
crease in the Post-office expenses, though including 
much which in his opinion is wholly unnecessary, is, 
when the accounts are cleared of certain extraneous 
charges, actually less for the three years subsequent to 
the reduction of the rate than for the three years pre- 
vious thereto. The gross revenue of the Post-office in 
1842 he showed to have been 1,578,000/., or two-thirds 
of that in 1837, which in the Post-office Committee 
was adopted as a standard ; and the net revenue in 
1842 to have been 600,000/. 

The following are other portions of Mr. Hill's evi- 
dence respecting the results of penny postage : — •' The 
illicit conveyance of letters is in effect suppressed, at 
least as regards inland conveyance, except when, owing 
to imperfection in the Post-office arrangements, the 
law is broken to save time. The almost total removal 
of an habitual disregard of a positive law, habitual 
among all classes of society, must be regarded as a 
benefit of high social importance. Causes tending to 
suppress correspondence have been removed. Com- 
mercial transactions relating even to very small 
amounts are managed through the post ; small orders 
are constantly so transmitted, and small remittances 
sent and acknowledged. Printers send t'heir proofs 
without hesitation ; the commercial traveller has no 
difficulty in writing to his principal ; and private indi- 
viduals, companies, and associations distribute widely 
those circulars, always important and often essential to 
the accomplishment of their objects. The poor now 
begin to enjoy their share of the convenience. No 
longer debarred from the expected letter by the charge 
with which it is laden, or driven to redeem it by 
pledging or sacrificing their little goods, they are per- 
mitted to correspond at a cost so moderate, that it is 
borne with case and cheerfulness, and thus they find 
access to affectionate intercourse with their distant 



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friends, and to that information often so important for 
the bettering of their condition, sometimes almost ne- 
cessary for the preservation of health, and even of 
life. Remarkable cases have come to my knowledge 
of most important advantages being enjoyed by indi- 
viduals among the poor, for which they were imme- 
diately indebted to the low rate of postage. In short, 
it is a fact as gratifying as it is well ascertained, that 
it is in districts inhabited by the poor that the increase 
of letters is the greatest." 

As a specimen of the letters which Mr. Hill had re- 
ceived describing the commercial and social advan- 
tages of cheap postage, he read the following from Pro- 
fessor Henslow : — "To the importance of the penny 
postage to those who cultivate science I can bear most 
unequivocal testimony, as I am continually receiving 
and transmitting a variety of specimens, living and 
dead, by post. Among them you will laugh to hear 
that I have received three living carnivorous slugs, 
which arrived safe in a pill-box. This very day I have 
received from a stranger (by post) a parcel of young 
wheat-plants attacked by the larvae of some fly ; and 
these having arrived in a living state, I can as readily 
hand them over to an entomologist for his inspection 
and remarks. That the penny postage is art important 
addition to the comforts of the poor labourer, I cart 
also testify. From my residence in a neighbourhood 
where scarcely any labourer can read, much less write, 
I am often employed by them as an amanuensis, and 
have frequently heard them express their satisfaction 
at the facility they enjoy of now corresponding with 
distant relatives. As the rising generation are learn- 
ing to write, a most material addition to the circulation 
of letters may be expected from among this class of 
the population ; indeed, I know that the pens of some 
of my village-school children are already put into re- 
quisition by their parents. A somewhat improved 
arrangement in the transmission of letters to our 
villages, and which might easily be accomplished, 
would greatly accelerate the development of country 
letter- writers. Of the vast domestic comfort which 
the penny postage has added to homes like my own, 
situate m retired villages, I need say nothing." 
Mr. Hill also referred to a letter from Mr. John 
Travers, the wholesale grocer, stating that since the 
reduction of postage his correspondence is quadru- 
pled, that his credits are shortened, that his pay- 
ments are quicker and more punctual, and his orders 
more numerous; and also to a letter from Messrs. 
Pickford and Company, the well-known carriers, by 
which it appears that while their postage for the 
year ending March, 1839, was on 30,000 letters, 
that for the year ending March, 1843, was on about 
240,000; ana that considering the number of en- 
closures now contained in one letter, they estimate the 
increase as really from 30,000 to 720,000. Mr. Hill men- 
tioned also that *' Mr. Stokes, the honorary secretary 
to the Parker Society (a society that contains among 
its members nearly all the dignitaries of the Church, 
and many other influential men, among whom is the 
present Chancellor of the Exchequer), states that the 
Society could not have come into existence but for the 
penny postage. It is for reprinting the works of the 
early English Reformers. Tnere are seven thousand 
subscribers. It pays yearly from 200/. to 300/. postage. 
It also pays duty on three thousand reams of paper." 
Indeed, the important commercial and social advan- 
tages of penny postage wore too obvious to need proof; 
they were fully admitted ; and Mr. Hill's tender of the 
testimony of disinterested persons to the same effect 
was declined by the Committee as unnecessary. 

Under the important head of Post-office revenue, 
Mr. Hill gave the following details to the Postage 
pommittee :— •' I calculated on eventually obtaining 



the same gross revenue as in 1837, and that to effect 
this a fivefold increase of letters would suffice. Of 
course this calculation, which had no reference to im- 
mediate consequences, was founded upon the supposi- 
tion, yet unrealised, that the plan was to be adopted 
in its integrity. It rested also upon the circumstances 
of the country remaining in their ordinary state, and 
neither did nor could anticipate the season of calamity 
which has ensued. In 1842, however, the gross re- 
venue was fully two-thirds the former amount, and it 
is steadily increasing. Again, there is now no doubt 
that little more than a fourfold increase of letters will 
suffice. That such is the fact will be shown by the 
following statement : — The gross revenue of 1842 was 
1,578,000/., which must be increased by 48 per cent, 
in order to raise it to an equality with the gross re- 
venue of 1837, which in the Committee was taken as a 
standard. The number of letters delivered in the 
United Kingdom, in 1842. was about 209 millions, which 
increased by 48 per cent, becomes 309 millions, or little 
more than four times the number of chargeable letters 
delivered in the United Kingdom before the reduction 
of the rate. In January, 1843 (the date of the last re- 
turn), the number of letters delivered was at the rate 
of about 221 millions per annum, or almost exactly 
three times the former number. Finally, I calculated 
that in consequence of the simple and economical 
arrangements proposed, the fivefold increase in the 
number of letters would involve an addition of not 
more than 300,000/. per annum to the expenses of the 
Post-office, consequently that the net revenue would 
fall from about 1.600,000/. to about 1,300,000/. ; and I 
gave a table (Post-office Reform, 3rd edit. p. 67) show- 
ing that the net revenue which might be anticipated 
from a threefold increase of letters was 580,000/. It 
appears that from a somewhat less than threefold in- 
crease in 1842, the net revenue was 600,000/., even 
under the present costly management." 

Mr. Hill next showed that the oft-repeated state- 
ment, that on the establishment of a penny rate a 
large sum of government postage was for the first time 
carried to the credit of the Post-office, was founded on a 
mistaken view of the case, arising chiefly from ignorance 
of the fact, that under the old system several of the Go- 
vernment offices paid the whole of their postage, while 
very few had entire exemption ; all payments being 
then of course at the higher rates. Further, that the 
annual postage expenses of the three principal depart- 
ments, viz. Customs, Excise, and Stamps and Taxes, 
were formerly as much as 60,000/., whereas they were 
now only about 4000/. Next, as to security of cor- 
respondence, Mr. Hill showed that according to a rea- 
sonable estimate of the increase in the number of 
money-letters (an estimate much below that to be in- 
ferred from the Post-office estimate of London money- 
letters), there was good reason for believing that the 
security is at present quite as great as under the old 
system ; and this, notwithstanding the abandonment of 
gratuitous registration and the non-adoption of several 
precautionary measures which he had recommended. 
He afterwards laid before the Committee a general 
statement of measures of improvement not yet effected, 
but which he had recommended while at the Trea- 
sury, several of them essential parts of his original 
plan,; preceding the enumeration by reading portions 
of his official correspondence with the Chancellor of 
the Exchequer, strongly and repeatedly pressing these 
measures on his attention. 

Mr. Hill's unexpected removal from the superin- 
tendence of his own plan has left the management of 
it in the hands of parties who are in some respects 
averse to it. His views respecting the present work- 
ing of the plan are given in the pamphlet. 



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[Auction-Room at ChrUtie'*.— From a Print by Gilray.] 



Auctions in London. 

Ip w© take up the morning's newspaper, and glance 
over the lists of sales by auction therein contained, in 
order to form some rude estimate of their number, and 
the amount of property concerned in them — if wc then 
extend our calculations to a month, instead of a day — 
and then again to an entire year, we shall arrive at a 
somewhat startling view of the magnitude of this 
branch of the affairs of the Metropolis, and look back 
with astonishment at the state of things in the City 
two centuries ago, as evidenced in the charter granted 
to the mayor and citizens by Charles I. We there 
find created the new office of Outroper, or common 
crier for the sale of all household stuff, apparel, leases 
of houses, goods, chattels, and so on, belonging to per- 
sons who shall be willing to sell the same by public 
and open claim, commonly called outcry, and which 
officer (done, within the boundaries of the City, the 
Liberties, and Southwark, was so privileged. It is dif- 
ficult now to imagine a London with one auctioneer, yet 
such it seems there was in the seventeenth century. 
Even the name 4 auction * we thus learn is of compara- 
tively modern date among us ; and which, as well as 
the thing, comes originally from the Romans, who, 
during their warlike prosperities, established the cus- 
tom of selling military spoils, with no more ceremony 
than that of merely sticking a spear in the ground, 
under which the sales immediately took place ; and as 
each bidder increased his bidding on the one before 
him, the descriptive appellation of auctio, an increase, 
was given to theril. 

The peculiar mode of selling formerly in use in this 
country offers a scarcely less forcible illustration of 
what auctions were, as contrasted with what they are ; 
wc allude to the "sale by the candle," an expression 
derived from the old custom of employing candles dur- 
ing an auction to measure time, •• it being declared 
that no one lot of goods should continue to be offered 

no. 763. 



to the biddings of the company for a longer time than 
would suffice for the burning of one inch of candle ; 
as Soon as this rude kind of mrasure had existed to 
that extent, the '.then highest bidder was declared to 
be the purchaser."* If we now step into Christie's or 
some other eminent auctioneer's rooms, on ordinary 
sale-days, and mark the rapidity and importance of the 
business transacted, we cannot but smile at the re- 
membrance of the inch of candle, and feel something 
of a sense of the ludicrous as we think of the period of 
time that was not to be exceeded in the sale of a lot, 
and of that which is actually occupied in selling it in a 
modern auction-room. 

The truth seems to be, that before the present cen- 
tury auctions were rather an incident of trade than an 
essential feature; and that they were confined in a 
great measure to the sale of books, pictures, and what 
formed an important item in the expenditure of a 
fashionable of the last century — articles of virtu, with 
antiquities and curiosities of all kinds, among which 
old china enjoyed especial attention. The allusions of 
our comic dramatists to the auctions and auction- 
hunters of the day, buying anything and everything, 
whether wanted or no, since " it was so cheap," will be 
in most readers' recollection. But when the habit of 
selling by auction began to prevail among our mer- 
chants and other men of business, its progress was 
verv rapid, and, in consequence, a host of unanticipated 
evils sprung up to keep it company, and to give our 
legislators employment. In 1818, a Select Committee 
of the House of Commons was appointed to in- 
quire into the subject, and after examining various 
witnesses, they came to the conclusion that great 
frauds were constantly being committed, through the 
modes of sale then prevalent. Some persons, it 
appears, made a business of getting up articles 
of inferior manufacture, to be thus disposed of, 
under fictitious representations as to ownership) and 
i* ' Penny Cyclopaedia/ art. ' Auction.* 



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by attaching to their worthless productions the names 
of the most respectable makers, who not unfrequently 
found it necessary to resort to the auction-rooms in 
order to expose personally the fraud attempted upon 
them and the public. A curious evil complained of 
by the committee was that of daring combinations by 
a set of men who attended real sales, and by various 
means drove respectable purchasers away, then bought 
in what was offered at their own prices, and after- 
wards privately sold the same, under a form of public 
auction, called knock-out sales. The gentry here de- 
scribed are not altogether extinct as yet, as a stranger, 
who attends some of the less respectable of the London 
auction-rooms, is painfully reminded, by the annoy- 
ance to which the lower class of brokers and Jews sub- 
ject him. Nay, in some of the most public thorough- 
fares we have even living examples of some of the 
other practices referred to by the committee. There 
still exist mock auctions, with their mock bidders and 
mock valuables ready to impose upon the first stranger 
who shall be ignorant or credulous enough to step in 
with his real money. From such nests of swindlers, 
whom our ordinary laws appear to be inadequate to 
put down, and for whom, therefore, it is much to be 
wished there were extraordinary — from this to the 
rooms shown in our engraving the transition is indeed 
great, the contrast remarkable. It is not simply 
the almost European reputation which the bouse in 
question has long enjoyed, for a business house, con- 
ducted upon honourable and enlightened principles, 
that entitles the name of Christie to respectful men- 
tion; but that name has individual literary associations 
connected with it of a noticeable character. The 
eldest son of him who raised the firm to its lofty posi- 
tion, and who subsequently was himself its principal, 
was the late James Christie, Esq., no less distinguished 
as the scholar and the gentleman than as the auc- 
tioneer. His first literary production was a disqui- 
sition upon Etruscan vases, a subject suggested to 
him through his intimacy with the collection of the 
famous Townley Marbles. Works of a similar cha- 
racter followed at different times; and, without enter- 
ing into particulars, it will be sufficient to transcribe 
the opinion of the author of a memoir in the • Gentle- 
man's Magazine,' that "the originality of his disco- 
veries is not less conspicuous than the taste and talent 
with which he explains them." To which we may 
add, from the same eloquent tribute to his memory, 
that it will not seem surprising to find that such a 
man " raised the business he followed to the dignity of 
a profession. In pictures, in sculpture, in virtu, his 
taste was undisputed, and his judgment deferred to, 
as founded on the purest models and the most accre- 
dited standard. If to these advantages we add that 
fine moral feeling and that inherent love of truth 
which formed the basis of his character, and which 
would never permit him for any advantage to himself 
or others to violate their obligations, we may then 
have some means of judging how in his hands busi- 
ness became an honourable calling, and how that 
which to many is only secular, by him was dignified 
into a virtuous application of time and talents." This, 
the best of auctioneers, if we may credit the portrait 
here drawn of him, died in 1831. The subject of auc- 
tions is, however, too interesting to be completed within 
our present limits, and it will therefore be resumed in 
a future number* 



THE SALT-TRADE OF FOREIGN COUNTRIES. 

It is remarkable that in many countries the sale of 
salt still continues a government monopoly. The com- 
modity may at first thought seem too trifling to be 



regarded with such a degree of importance ; since we 
know that in England, at present, one pennyworth 
will supply the domestic wants of a family for a con- 
siderable period. But when we come to regard it in 
connection with the feeding of cattle, the curing offish, 
and other extensive modes of consumption, and at the 
same time remember how absolutely indispensable it is 
at almost all our meals, especially those of the poorer 
classes, we cannot fail to see its importance, and to 
appreciate the effects of any restriction in the free pur- 
chase and sale of it. We will notice briefly the position 
of the salt-trade in Hungary, in Tuscany, and in British 
India, as examples of the modes in which this com- 
modity is made the subject of government monopoly. 

In Hungary a monopoly of the sale of salt is one of 
the royal privileges, acknowledged as such by the 
nation, and enjoyed by the crown-for a long succession 
of years. In the year 1800 the price was fixed by the 
government at half a florin (one shilling) per centner ; 
but the long and exhausting wars with Trance led the 
government to raise the price to three florins and 
a half in Transylvania, and seven and a half in Hun- 
gary. The salt is a very hard rock-salt, dug with 
pickaxes from the royal mines, and brought to market 
in cubical masses weighing about fifty-eight pounds 
each. The miner receives two kreutzcrs and a half 
(twopence) for working out one of these masses. 
Mr. Turnbull, in his work on Austria, states that 
government salt-venders are established in almost 
every town and village. Any vein of rock-salt being 
found on an estate, becomes at once the property of 
the crown, and can only be worked by its agents. In 
the maritime provinces of Ischia and Dalmatia there 
are works belonging to individuals for producing salt 
from sea-water; but these are under the strict sur- 
veillance of the government officers. Only a certain 
number of Salines, or works, may be established, in 
pursuance of licences annually granted ; only a certain 
quantity of salt may be made, and this must be sold 
to the government itself, at a regulated price. In 
places very distant from the sources of supply, certain 

?[uan titics of foreign salt are permitted to be imported 
rom abroad ; but the agents of the government must 
alone be the importers and the venders ; so that the 
whole sale and management of the article, in every 
shape, is in the hands of the officers of the crown. 
The selling price is regulated somewhat as follows : — 
a fixed sum is calculated as the expense of production ; 
another fixed sum is taken in regard of profit ; and to 
these two items is added the actual expense of carriage, 
which, on so bulky an article, and with roads so bad as 
those of Hungary, is very heavy ; so that the price 
varies greatly according to the distance from the mines. 
At the mines it can be sold for tenpence the centner 
of one hundred and twenty-three pounds, whereas in 
distant parts it costs the consumer fourteen or fifteen 
shillings. 

This system leads to the smuggling of salt into 
Hungary from Wallachia. Mr. Paget says : — " I have 
been shown the salt-smugglers' paths on the frontiers 
of Wallachia, where they often come over with whole 
troops of laden horses. I have heard from the country 
magistrates that it was ridiculous to attempt to oppose 
them; that they bad the sympathy of the peasantry 
with them, and were not only able to bribe the border- 
guard, but that they came in such numbers, and so 
well armed, that they did not dare even to make a 
show of resisting them. I doubt if there is one great 
proprietor in the south of Hungary who uses govern- 
ment salt, except in such quantity as decency requires 
to blind officers who do not wish to see. In that part 
of Hungary bordering on Transylvania the more 
tendcr-conscienced declared they would not use Turk- 
ish salt on any account; but I found that that was 



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because it was cheaper to smuggle it from Transylvania, 
where it is only half the price it is in Hungary." 

In many other countries of Europe salt is similarly 
monopolized by the government, for the sake of profit. 
Even in Tuscany, which is among the most liberally 
governed of the Italian states, this system is followed 
with great strictness. Dr. Bowring, in one of his 
Commercial Reports, states that the salt is procured 
from brine-springs, principally near Volterra ; and he 
describes the mode of manufacture. Captain Basil 
Hall, in one of his sketches, quotes a statement made 
to him by an inhabitant of Tuscany, illustrative of the 
absurd extent to which the system is carried :— *' Not 
only are the ordinary steps taken to prevent the in- 
trusion of competitors in the open market, but such is 
the dread of a rival manufacture, it is actually against 
law to draw a bucket of water; so that when my 
children were once directed to be washed in salt water, 
I was obliged to apply for a regular commission from 
the Custom-house before my servant would venture to 
bring a couple of gallons from the shore. One sum- 
mer's day, when my sons were bathing on a shallow 
part of the coast, they were surprised to observe a thin, 
nut extensive, coating of salt on the surface of the 
sand, caused, no doubt, by the sun's rays having evapo- 
rated the water. The boys wondered that so valuable 
an article, as they had been taught to consider salt, 
should be left on the beach to melt in the rain, or to 
be washed back again into the surf. Thinking no 
evil, of course, they collected a towel-full and brought 
it to me, who was as much surprised as the lads. But 
while we were standing around this newly-discovered 
treasure, and speculating on the strange fact of its 
being allowed to run to waste, one of the Italian 
servants, who happened to be passing, saw the contents 
of the towel. Turning as white as the salt itself, he 
exclaimed, ' In the name of the Virgin, how could 
you be so imprudent as to pick up salt from the sea- 
shore? Don't you know that you are subject to a 
heavy fine for infringing the Jaws of the country ? 
Even now,' continued the greatly alarmed domestic, 
'it is my duty to give information to government; 
otherwise, if it becomes known, I shall be punished.' 
The salt was, by general consent, buried in a hole in 
the garden, as a means of avoiding troublesome conse- 
quences." 

In the British provinces of India, in or contiguous 
to Bengal, the manufacture and sale of salt have for 
many years been wholly in the hands of the East India 
Company, who have derived a large revenue from it. 
During the discussions which arose preparatory to the 
renewal of the Company's charter, and among the vo- 
luminous documents relating thereto, the nature of 
this trade became fully inquired into. We believe 
that in the main the trade still remains in the hands 
of the Company ; but as changes of detail have proba- 
bly taken place, we will speak of the trade as it was a 
few years ago. 

It was only by gradual steps that the Company ac- 
ouired this monopoly. In the infancy of their power, 
the agents of the Company acquired from the Mogul 
emperors an exemption from all duties " on whatever 
goods and merchandise their agents might bring or 
carry, by land or by water, in the ports, quarters, and 
borders of the provinces." By degrees the agents of the 
Company got tneir exemption to extend to every kind of 
goods bought and sold by them ; and thus the Company 
were able to sell at a higher profit than other parties. 
*' Duatucks," or •* permits," were granted to the privi- 
leged parties, and a system of great extortion sprang 
up under the influence of these privileges. By the 
year 1765 the trade in salt by the government agents, 
under this system, became so oppressive to the natives, 
that the Company found it necessary to change the 



mode of proceeding. Lord Clive formed a plan 
whereby the trade would be advantageous to the Com- 
pany, and at the same time free from many of the 
abuses to which it had before been exposed :— all pri- 
vate dealers were recalled from the interior ; a society 
was formed for the exclusive purchase and sale of salt 
at certain specified markets ; the shares in this society 
were distributed among the Company's servants ; a 
committee was appointed to manage the affairs of the 
society, and the society was bound to pay the Company 
a duty of 35 per cent, on the selling price of the salt. 
Very soon afterwards this plan was again altered, and 
it was ordered that salt should be sold by the society 
only at Calcutta, and at a price not exceeding a cer- 
tain limit ; the salt was sold to native merchants at 
Calcutta, who were limited as to the quantity pur- 
chasable ; and they sold it to others at an advanced 
price (also strictly limited), by whom it was retailed 
throughout the country ; the government duty being 
at the same time raised to 50 per cent. 

The East India Directors in London disapproved, 
however, of this society altogether, and ordered it to 
be abolished ; compensating the shareholders at the 
same time for their loss. Tlie trade was then thrown 
open to private merchants, under restrictions to pre- 
vent monopoly and oppression. In 1772 a new plan 
came into operation, whereby the salt was to be ma- 
nufactured from the brine-springs by the Company ; 
and that the Collaries, Golahs, or Coolahs (for the 
word is spelt in all these ways by different writers), or 
manufactories, should be farmed out for five years, the 
farmers delivering the salt at a stipulated price, and 
the Company selling to the dealers at an advanced 
but also stipulated price. Five years afterwards this 
plan was so far altered, that the person who farmed 
the salt manufactory was allowed to sell the salt to 
whom he pleased. In 1780 another modification 
took place, in which the salt was manufactured for 
the Company by agents, who had a per centage on 
the proceeds ; and the salt was sold at a price to be 
regulated by the government at the commencement 
of every season. In 1787 the salt was ordered to be 
sold by public auction, instead of at a fixed price ; 
the salt districts were divided into five agencies, each 
of which was superintended by a paid European 
agent. This system, with certain minor changes, con- 
tinued in operation till the renewal of the Company's 
charter a few years ago. 

The district under the operation of these rules was 
chiefly in or near the delta of the Ganges, called the 
Sunderbunds, south and east of Calcutta. The salt 
was manufactured by a very poor class of natives called 
Molungees, who received a stipulated price for a eiven 
weight of salt manufactured ; and as they were always 
in extreme poverty, the payment was made in ad- 
vance. The agreement was thus made • — On a certain 
day the labourers and the officers assembled in a par- 
ticular place. Each labourer had a " hath chittee," or 
book in which his running account was kept ; and the 
money advanced was given to him, examined by him, 
and entered in the •' hath chittee." They then de- 
parted to the Golahs, where they manufactured the 
prescribed quantity of salt ; and at the end of the sea 
son the Company's agent assembled them all together, 
examined their accounts, and the quantity of salt pro- 
duced by them ; and if the whole of the money had not 
been advanced to them, they now received the remain- 
der. It was supposed that in 1831 upwards of a hun- 
dred thousand Molungees were employed in this 
manner, principally in a very unnealthy part of Bengal. 

The Company, having thus obtained their supply of 
salt, put it up periodically for public sale in lots at 
Calcutta, at intervals of about a month ; each lot vary- 
ing from five hundred to one thousand maunds (the 

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maund being equal to about eighty-two pounds). The 
price varied from about three hundred and fifty to 
four hundred and fifty rupees per hundred maunds, 
averaging about 12*. 9d. per cwt. Nearly all the 
purchasers were wealthy Hindoos residing at Cal- 
cutta ; and they were allowed to Temove the salt from 
the Company's warehouses at their convenience. 

The price which the natives of India paid for the 
salt (which is there a commodity very earnestly sought 
after) was greatly enhanced by the number of hands 
through which it passed. The salt-dealers were of 
various kinds, cacn receiving a share of the profit 
which determined the ultimate price of the salt. The 
first or highest were called Dhuratias. They purr- 
chased at the public sales in large quantities, and 
either sold out immediately at a profit, or kept their 
commodity until a favourable state of the market 
occurred ; paying to the Company a rental so long as 
the salt remained in the Company's warehouses. The 
next were second-class Dhuratias, men of limited capital 
who traded somewhat on the principle of Btock-joboing 
in the Funds. They had not money to pay for their 
purchases at the sales, but paid only a deposit, and 
endeavoured to sell before the time arrived for paying 
the Company. They sometimes lost by the bargain, 
since they must sell in time to get money to pay for 
their purchase. The Baugahs were dealers possessed 
of sufficient capita] to pay for" their purchases at once, 
and send the salt into the interior, where they sold it 
retail in their own warehouses. The second and third 
class Baugahs were merchants who differed from the 
former in allowing a system of credit, enhancing the 
price accordingly. A lower grade of dealers were the 
Assamees, who bought salt of the Baugah merchants, 
and sold it in smaller auantilies to xhaMoodics and to 
large families. The Moodies were the lowest class of 
dealers, who supplied the smallest quantities to the 
poorest persons. 

This chain of dealers necessarily drove up the price 
to a high point, and the Company was often urged to 
change the plan of proceeding; but the Company's 
monopoly (no persons being allowed to make salt but 
the Company's agents) was only in part the cause of 
this, since the buyers of small quantities of goods, 
especially in the interior of a country, usually have to 
pay largely for the number of hands through which 
the commodities pass. As to the monopoly itself, the 
Committee of the House of Commons on India affairs, 
in 1832, stated the revenue from salt (1,500,000/. per 
annum) to be too large to be given up, but recom- 
mended an attempt to be made to import salt into 
India from other countries, the sale still remaining in 
the hands of the Company. 

Gradation* of Animal Life. — Change of some kind is the law 
of the universe: everything which God does is progressive: and 
the present Question is, whether any of his progressions, having 
reference to human beings, appear to run on into infinitude ? 
Now, in seeking for an answer to this question, we are encoun- 
tered by on apparent law of the organised, or, at all events, of 
the sentient creation, of a truly remarkable character; a law 
which, though discernible only in fragments, and interrupted by 
seeming exceptions, holds with sufficient consistency to disclose 
the general method of nature — viz. that in proportion to the 
excellence and dignity of any form of existence, is if long in 
coming to maturity; that the cycles of things are great in pro- 
portion to their worth. It is needless to say, that there is no 
other criterion of the worth of a being than the magnitude of its 
capacities and the number of its functions. In glancing our 
eye up the chain of animal races, however difficult it may be to ar- 
range them symmetrically in an ascending series, the outlines 
of this law are surely sufficiently obvious. The creatures which, 
by universal consent, would be placed at the lower end of the 
scale, seein to come into life perfect at once, or, if they grow, to 
grow only in quantity : as if, of an existence *o inferior, no part 
could oe spared as preface to the rest. The perfect formation of 



creatures of a superior order divides itself into several dis- 
tinguishable stages; and the greater the number of faculties and 
instincts, the longer is the period set apart for the process of develop- 
ment. The lion has a longer infancy than the sheep, and tlie saga- 
cious elephant than either. The human being, lord of this lower 
world, is conducted to this supremacy through a yet more pro- 
tracted ascent ; none of the creatures that he rules have an infancy 
so helpless or so lasting; none furnish themselves so slowly with 
the knowledge needful tor self-subsistence; as if to him time 
were no object, and no elaboration of growth were too great for 
bis futurity. — Rev. J. Martineav. 



A Rat* qf Pignut*. — Beyond the extensive wilderness which 
bounds Caffa on the south are the Doko, a pigmy and perfectly 
wild race, not. exceeding four feet in height, of a dark olive com- 
plexion, and iu habits even more closely approximated to " the 
beasts that perish" than the bushmen of Southern Africa. They 
have neither idols nor temples nor sacred trees ; but possess a 
glimmering idea of a Supreme Being, to whom in misfortune — 
such as any of their relatives being slain by the kidnapper— they 
pray itaiiding on their heads, with their feet resting against a 
tree : " Yere, if indeed thou art, why dost thou suffer us to be 
killed f We are only eating ants, and ask neither food nor 
raiment. Thou hast raised us up. Why dost thou cast us 
down?" Many natives of Caffa and Enarea, who have visited 
these pigmies iu their native wilds, for evil, describe the road 
from the former kingdom to pass through forests and mountains 
for the most parts uninhabited, and swarming with wild beasts, 
elephants and buffaloes especially. Prom Bonga, distant about 
50 or CO miles, it is ten days' journey to Tufftee, the Omo river 
being crossed midway by a rude wooden bridge, 60 yards 
in breadth. Seven easy stages beyond Tufftee is Kooloo, whence 
the Doko country may be reached in one day. The climate is 
warm and the seasons extremely wet, the rains commencing in 
May, and continuing without the slightest intermission until 
February. The country inhabited by the Doko is clothed with 
a dense forest of bamboo, in the depths of which the people con- 
struct their rude wigwams of bent canes and grass. They have 
no king, no laws, no arts, no arms; possess neither flocks nor 
herds ; are not hunters, do not cultivate the soil, but subsist en- 
tirely upon fruits, roots, mice, serpents, reptiles, ants, and honey 
— both of which last they lick like the bear from off their arms ana 
hands. They beguile serpents by whistling, and, having torn 
them piecemeal with their long nails, devour them raw ; but 
although the forest* abound with elephants, buffaloes, lions, and 
leopards, they have no means of entrapping them. A large tree 
called Loko is found, amongst many other species, attaining an 
extraordinary height, the roots of which, when scraped, are red, 
and serve for food. The yebo and meytee are the principal fruits ; 
and to obtain these, women as well as men ascend the trees like 
monkeys, nnd in their quarrels and scrambles not unfrequeiitly 
throw each otlier down from the branches. Both sexes go per- 
fectly naked, and have thick pouting lips, diminutive eyes, and 
flat noses. The hair is not woolly, and in the females reaches to 
the shoulders. The men have no beard. The nails, never pared, 
grow, both on the hands and feet, like eagle's talons, and are em- 
ployed in digging for ants. The people are ignorant of the use 
of fire. They perforate the ears in infancy with a pointed bam- 
boo, so as to leave nothing save the external cartilage, but they 
neither tatloo nor pierce the nose; and the only ornament worn 
is a necklace composed of the spinal process of a serpent. Pro- 
lific, and breeding like wild beasts, the redundant population 
forms the wealth of the dealer iu human flesh. Great annual 
slave-hunts are undertaken from Dumbaro, Caffa, and Kooloo ; 
and the dense forests of bamboo, the creaking of which is repre- 
sented to be loud and incessant, often prove the scene of fierce 
and bloody struggles between rival tribes. Wide tracts hav- 
ing been encircled, the band of rovers, converging, impel the 
denizens to the centre. Holding a gay cloth before their persons, 
they dance and sing in a peculiar manner j and the defenceless 
pigmies, aware from sad experience that all who attempt to 
escape will |>e ruthlessly hunted down, and nerhnps slain, tamely 
approach, and suffer themselves to he blindfolded. One hundred 
merchants can thus kidnap a thousand Dokos; and although 
long prone to their old habits of digging for. ants, and searching 
for mice, serpents, or lizards, the captives rarely attempt to 
escape. Their docility and usefulness, added to very limited 
wants, rendering them in high demand, none are ever sold out 
of the countries bordering ou^ the Gocbob, and none, therefore, 
find their way to Shoa. — Major Harri*'*, Highland* *f j. 



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[Bilbao. 



PROVINCE OF BISCAY. 



Thb lordship or province of Biscay, Biscaya, or Viz- 
caya, one of the Basque provinces in Spain, is bounded 
on the north by the Bay of Biscay, and its inland limits 
are the provinces of Alva, Old Castile, Guipuzeoa, and 
New Castile. The territory is occupied by mountains, 
with numerous narrow valleys and well-cultivated 
plains between them, which give the country a singu- 
larly pleasing aspect, both for the agriculturist and for 
the lover of the picturesque. Some of the mountains 
appear like several hills heaped upon one another, 
such as that of Gorveya, which is reckoned to require 
five hours' walking to reach the top. On its summit 
is a large plain, which furnishes abundant pasture to 
rattle during the summer months. Near Durango 
there are other mountains, or rather large masses of 
calcareous rocks, naked, and of very difficult ascent. 
Near the bar at Portugalete is the lofty Serrantes, an 
immense natural pyramid, which points out to sailors 
the entrance of the port, and which Bowles considers 
to be an extinct volcano. There are other mountains, 
which terminate in bare points of calcareous rocks, yet 
have a very easy slope, are well cultivated, and 
covered with neat farms. There are some round low 
hills, which are inhabited, and well cultivated to the 
summit. 

The soil rests in general upon rock of different 
kinds, some of which ris?s above it in immense masses 
of sandstone, calcareous rocks, or pure marble. The 
marble is nearly black, with white spots and veins. 
Several torrents descend from the mountains, which 
in the rainy season have a full stream, but in summer 
are almost dry. The coast is very abrupt and deeply 
cut in different points, through which the sea penetrates 
to a considerable distance inland, forming rias and 
ports for fishing-boats and small trading- vessels. The 
principal of thesp ports are, from east to west, Hea, 
Bermeo, Plencia, and Portugalete. The rivers which 
run into the Bay of Biscay on the shore of Spain have 



a short course, originating commonly twenty or thirty 
miles, and perhaps never more than forty miles, from 
the coast, so that here the basin of this gulf extends 
only a short distance inland. The commerce carried 
on py means of these rivers is therefore inconsiderable, 
and the harbours in this part of Spain are compara- 
tively but little resorted to, owing to the height of the 
mountains which divide them from the plains in the 
interior of the peninsula, and the difficulty and ex- 
pensiyenesa of the transport of heavy commodities. 
From the inland provinces only wool is brought to the 
ports of Santander and Bilbao; the produce of (lie 
coast itself is not considerable, and consists chiefly of 
fruits. With the exception of the arable land and the 
bare summits of the highest mountains, the province 
is covered with natural or artificial woods of wild holly, 
arbutus, and oak. Where the soil is not deep enough 
for raising large trees, it is covered with argumas, or 
furze, and several Bpecies of erica, or heath. The 
lower parts of the mountains are planted with oak and 
chestnut. Apple-trees grow in every part of the pro- 
vince, almost without cultivation. Cherry-trees grow 
to the size of a large elm, and the peaches are among 
the best in the Peninsula. There are several species 
of pears, two of currants, and several varieties of figs 
and walnuts. Strawberries are indigenous in Biscay ; 
those that grow wild in the woods are not very large, 
but when cultivated in the neighbourhood of Bilbao 
they are of the best in Europe. The kitchen vege- 
tables are excellent and plentiful, particularly onions, 
which are very large and sweet. In the territory of 
Bilbao, Orduna, and the Encartaciones, very good 
muscat and white table grapes are cultivated; and 
likewise the common grape, of which the Biscay ans 
make their chaeoli, or wine. Some of the vines are 
high, and planted by the side of the road or near the 
farms ; but the greatest part of them are low vines, 
rising between three and four feet above the ground. 
The chacoli is one of the products which gives most 
profit ; but as the municipal authority fixes the price 



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for sale, and absolutely prohibits the introduction of 
any other wine while it lasts, the farmer only attends 
to the quantity, and not to the quality of the liquor he 
makes. Bowles says, that if the grape were allowed 
to ripen, and the wine to ferment completely, chacol! 
would be a sparkling wine little inferior to cham- 
pagne. 

The soil of Biscay is in general clayey, and although 
from time immemorial the farmers have mixed it with 
calcareous earth to render it lighter and more* fertile, 
it is only by great labour that it is rendered produc- 
tive. In October the earth in the plain is dug up in 
large clods and left till the spring in that state, when 
it is broken to pieces and planted with Indian corn, 
pumpkins, and scarlet-runners. This crop is gathered 
in October, when wheat is sown ; after cutting which, 
in the following August, the soil is left bare, and pro- 
duces only grass for the cattle. The labour on the low 
hills is different . in July and August, the turf is dug 
up and formed into heaps, which, being hollowed, are 
filled with dry brushwood and burnt. The ashes and 
burnt earth are then strewed about. The three first 
years the soil produces abundant crops of wheat, in the 
fourth year they sow it with rye, and in the fifth with 
flax ; afterwards, it is left for pasture-ground. 

All the province abounds with game. The par- 
tridges and quails are exquisite. There are also wild 
doves, snipes, and woodcocks. The chimbo, a very 
delicate bird of passage, arrives at Biscay in August, 
and remains there till the end of October. Hares are 
not very abundant ; but deer and wild rabbits are 
plentiful. Wolves are very rare, and it is still a greater 
rarity to find a bear, but foxes are plentiful everywhere. 
The oxen of Biscay are small, but strong, and give a 
very juicy and well-flavoured meat There are also 

foato and a few sheep. The sea and rivers abound in 
elicate fish, not inferior in flavour to that of Asturias 
and Galicia. 

'Biscay is very rich in minerals: the most common 
is iron, which is found in almost every part of the pro- 
vince. The jnost productive of these mines are those 
called Veneras, about five miles from Bilbao. The 
richest mine, and that which contains the most malle- 
able metal, is that of Somorostro. Everybody is al- 
lowed to dig out the ore, to take any quantity he pleases, 
and to transport it where he pleases, without paying 
any duty. A hundred pounds of ore produce from 
thirty to thirty-five pounds of iron. 

The population or Biscay is reckoned at one hundred 
and thirty-three thousand, distributed in one city, twenty 
towns, seventy anteiplesias, and ten valleys or repub- 
lics. The only city in the province is Orduna, and the 
principal villa or town is Bilbao, the capital of the pro- 
vince ; but the whole province appears one large town 
composed of isolated farms, a certain number of which 
forms a parish with a church in the centre. The houses 
are in general two stories high ; the ground floor is 
used for the cattle, cellaring, and the implements of 
agriculture ; the first floor is occupied by the family ; 
and in the second the grain and fruits arc preserved. 
Every house has an oven, a kitchen-garden, an orchard, 
and a certain portion of arable land and woodland. In 
former times, the houses were built of stone to the first 
floor, and the second of wood ; but at present they are 
all of stone, floored with wood. It is the greatest rarity 
to sec a ruined house, while new ones are often built. 
The greatest part of the farms are cultivated by their 
owners, who are called echqaunac, that is, lords of the 
house, in possession of whose family they have been 
from time immemorial, as every family considers it a 
disgrace to sell the patrimonial house. In general, the 
name of the family expresses the situation or some 
other circumstance of the house; hence the names 
Ecbaluzc, Goicochea, Goyeneche, &c. In this, as in all 



the northern provinces of Spain, are found those old 
edifices called Solares, from the founders of which the 
ancient nobility descend. These buildings are of very 
simple construction, flanked by strong towers : at pre- 
sent very few of them exist. The greatest part of them 
have been destroyed in times of civil discord, and 
others have been altered to suit the convenience and 
comfort of the owner, rather than please his vanity. 
The owners of these houses are called Paricntes Ma- 
yores, and are by all their relations considered as the 
heads of their respective families. Some of these 
families were the founders of the churches, have re- 
ceived the tithes, and appointed the ministers to serve 
in them, from a time which was said to be immemorial 
five centuries ago. Beyond this privilege, and the in- 
fluence which their ricnes may give them, they possess 
no other, nor are they considered as superiors uy any 
other independent although poorer farmer. The early 
education which the people give to their children at 
home is more calculated to harden their bodies than 
to develop their mental faculties ; but at a later period 
they send them to colleges, where they receive the 
necessary instruction. The daughters, even of the 
richest persons, are employed in all the menial labours 
of the household, and pride themselves on their skill in 
these matters. Bowles says, that when he visited that 
country he imagined himself transferred to the patri- 
archal age; and adds, "Whoever seeks native sim- 
plicity, health, and real happiness, will undoubtedly 
find these blessings in these mountains; it is in them 
that he will find in general a people, if not opulent, 
really contented, true patriots, and not servilely sub- 
mitting to the powerful. Every one possesses some- 
thing ; and, in general, it is considered disgraceful to 
be a beggar." Although things have greatly altered 
since Bowles's time (1780), it is not rare to find families 
who still preserve the simplicity of manners here 
described. 

The climate of Biscay is in general damp and cold, 
but so salubrious, says Bowles, that if it were not for 
the diseases which the people contract from excessive 
eating during their festivals, physicians would be 
almost useless. Although they drink in proportion, 
it is a very rare thing to see a Biscayan drunk. 

Bilbao is the capital of the lordship of Biscay a. It 
is situated in a spacious and fertile plain, on the east 
or right bank of the river Nerva or Nervion, called by 
the inhabitants Ibaizabal, nine miles east-south-east of 
Portugalete. The plain of Bilbao is surrounded by 
high mountains, from which numerous torrents de- 
scend in the rainy season. This circumstance for- 
merly exposed the town to frequent inundations ; but 
the inconvenience has been of late avoided by widen- 
ing the canal, and constructing dams and other works. 
The plain is very well cultivated, and covered with 
numerous neat country-houses. 

Bilbao contains four parishes, five convents of nuns, 
two of monks, an hospital, and about eight hundred 
houses, substantially built, generally three stories high. 
The hospital is a magnificent stone building, contain- 
ing six hundred beds, a chapel, and an apothecary's 
hall, with a competent number of officers in every 
department. The sick are visited twice a-day by the 
four physicians and two surgeons of the town. A 
committee of respectable citizens superintend tnc 
whole. The hospital has been built and is supported 
by voluntary contributions, and every poor invalid of 
Bilbao has admittance into it cost-free. 

There is also a Casa de Misericordia, or charity, 
house, supported by voluntary contributions, and su- 
perintended by a committee of respectable individuals, 
to provide with food, clothing, shelter, and instruction 
foundlings and orphans, or otherwise destitute chil- 
dren. There is a manufactory of common earthen* 



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ware connected with the establishment in which the 
children work. They arc besides instructed, at the 
expense of the house, in some business which may be 
the means of procuring them an honest livelihood. 
The streets are all well paved with square flat stones 
on both sides, and with small round stones in the mid- 
dle. No carriage of any sort is allowed in ihein, by 
which means the pavement is much longer kept in 
repair. The water of the river is conducted through 
pipes to the most elevated part of the different streets, 
from which it flows through them in abundance, wash- 
ing away all the dirt, which it carries to the river. 
The market-place, situated at the eastern extremity of 
the town, is always abundantly supplied. The slaugh- 
ter-house, where the meat is also sold, is a fine build- 
ing of the Tuscan order, situated iit the middle of the 
town. Possessing an abundant supply of water from 
a fountain constantly flowing, ana being open on all 
sides so as to permit a free current of air, there is 
nothing in it to offend either the sight or the smell. 
On the right bank of the river there is a wide and 
pleasant promenade planted with lime-trees and oak, 
and lined with many houses, gardens, and warehouses. 
Numerous wharfs and strong moles are built on both 
banks at different places down the river to Portugal- 
ete. There arc three bridges over the river at Bilbao : 
one, very old, of stone ; another of wood, of modern 
construction, very solid and handsome, with one arch; 
and the third is a suspension bridge of recent construc- 
tion. The tide ascends as high as the town, but only 
small vessels under sixty or seventy tons can sail so far 
up the river, except with a very full tide ; the greatest 
part of them remain at Olaveaga, two miles from the 
town. 

Bilbao is the seat of the government of the province, 
and of the consulado, or tribunal of commerce. That 
body has endowed schools for the gratuitous instruc- 
tion of the youth of the town in architecture, mathema- 
tics, navigation, drawing, and the French and English 
languages. There is a school where poor children 
are instructed gratuitously in reading and writing, and 
another for teaching the Latin language, both sup- 
ported by the ayuntamiento, or common council. 

The people of Bilbao are kind and hospitable ; their 
society is pleasing and easily accessible to strangers. 
The women of the lower class, who are employed as 
carriers and in other manly occupations, are so robust 
that they may be frequently seen after a day of labori- 
ous employment dancing as cheerfully as on a holiday. 
They are clean and neatly dressed, and in general go 
barefooted. To gratify the inclination of the common 
people for dancing, the town pays three men, who 
play on the tambourine and the provincial wind- 
instruments at the public dances. There is a public 
building for playing at ball and two for tennis, of both 
which exercises the people are exceedingly fond. 
There are five very pleasant fountains, a capacious and 
handsome playhouse, several coffee-houses, and many 
shops and warehouses, abundantly supplied with ail 
articles of foreign merchandise, which, owing to the 
moderate duties and the intelligence of the people in 
mercantile concerns, may be obtained as cheap as in 
the countries where they are manufactured. The po- 
pulation of Bilbao is 15,000. The inhabitants are em- 
ployed in agriculture, commerce, and the manufactur- 
ing of iron. There are also manufactures of paper, 
hats, soap, leather, earthenware, and cigars. The 
principal articles of exportation are wool and wheat 
to foreign countries, and iron to other parts of the 
Peninsula. 

Bilbao was twice besieged, in 1837, by the Carlists, 
and has since been fortified. 



FRANKINCENSE AND MYRRH. 

Thh manner in which Frankincense and Myrrh are 
mentioned in the Bible, associated with gold and pre- 
cious stones as costly productions, plainly indicates the 
importance with which they were regarded. From 
the book of Genesis onward throughout the greater 
part of the Bible there are these allusions ; principally 
m connection with the duties of the priestly office. 

Myrrh is more frequently alluded to as a delightful 
scent than as employed in religious observances. 

Frankincense is an odoriferous aromatic gum or 
resin, formerly burnt as an incense in temples, and 
now used in pharmacy. It distils from incisions made 
in an Asiatic tree during the heats of summer. Both 
the place whence it is procured and the tree which 
produces it have long been deemed uncertain. It has 
generally been considered that Arabia Felix is the 
country of its growth, but some have named the Holy 
Land, and others have stated it to have been found in 
the East Indies. When, however, we consider that a 
warm climate extends throughout the southern parts 
of Asia, we may naturally conclude that a tree which 
will grow in one place may also be cultivated in many 
others. Pliny was evidently at fault as to the kind of 
tree which produces it; and it is only in modern times 
that it has been ascertained to be what is now termed 
the Boswellia Serrata, growing in Arabia, but still 
more luxuriantly in the East Indies. 

The perfume is divided into two kinds, the one called 
olibanum, and the other frankincense. Olibanum is in 
white bits or tears of a yellowish colour, with a bitter 
disagreeable taste, and when chewed it promotes the 
flow of saliva. When laid on coals, or a red-hot iron, 
it flames and burns with a strong odour. The drops 
receive different names according as they are single, or 
joined together in pairs, or if of an unusually large size, 
or if several adhere to the bark from which they had 
exuded, or if powder has been rubbed from off them. 
This substance was formerly used as an ingredient in 
various chemical preparations, for curing numerous 
diseases. Externally it was applied to strengthen the 
brain and to heal wounds. It was also used to assuage 
the toothache. 

Frankincense, as distinguished from olibanum, is 
softer, more resinous, and less active as a medical 
agent than the other. It is imported commercially in 
the form of little globules or masses, of a brownish or 
yellowish colour on the outside, but internally whitish, 
and variegated with whitish specks. It has a bitterish, 
acid, and unpleasant taste, and a faint odour. It is 
used in some medicinal preparations, but, like oliba- 
num, it is not nearly so much employed in that way as 
in former times. Bark of incense, being the bark of 
the tree through which it has exuded, and manna of in- 
cense, being a powder resulting from the friction of 
the drops against each other, are sold in a distinct state, 
as possessing many of the properties of the sap itself. 

It is in relation to incense-burning among the Jews 
that frankincense derives its chief importance. Among 
the notes to the 30th chapter of Exodus, in the • Pic- 
torial Bible,' is the following in allusion to this sub- 
ject : — " There is nothing more ancient on the subject 
of incense and perfume than what this chapter con- 
tains. Of incense there is no mention in the offerings 
and sacrifices of the patriarchs ; and it is equally true 
that in the early history of most religions we find no 
mention of incense. Theophrastus says, that anciently 
men offered no incense or odours to the gods, but only 
herbs, which they plucked and presented upon the 
altar as an offering taken from the earth. Ovid, also, 
speaking of the time of Janus, describes the sacrifices 
as being then without incense and without blood. This 
is all, however, with reference to Eastern Europe ; but 



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[February 24, 1844. 



aromatic offerings were known to the Arabians, Egyp- 
tians, and Hebrews, long before those times which were 
ancient to the Greeks and Romans. These have always 
thought themselves bound to offer to God part of that 
which was most precious among themselves, and hence 
incense was probably offered almost as soon as known. 
As Arabia was famous for its aromatics, which Egypt 
never produced, there is nothing improbable in the 
idea of Calmet, who, in his comment on this chapter, 
thinks that the custom of offering perfumes on the altar 
commenced in Arabia. The Israelites were at this 
time in that country, and it is not impossible that the 
Arabians themselves may have taken the idea from the 
Hebrews, of whose customs they must have obtained 
some knowledge. Offerings of incense were, however, 
very anciently in use among the Egyptians, but there 
is nothing to show whether the custom was in use 
among them at the period before us ; we should rather 
think that it was, for the • art of the perfumer,' ac- 
cording to which the incense was to be compounded, 
is not an art which any of the Israelites could have 
known unless they had learned it in Egypt. Plutarch 
says that the Egyptians offered incense to the sun — 
resin in the morning, myrrh at noon, and about sunset 
an aromatic compound which they called Kypi. This 
statement is corroborated by the incense altars which 
appear in Egyptian paintings." A representation is 
given in the work here quoted, of the probable form 
of the altar of incense used by the early Jews. It was 
about half a yard square, and a yard high, with a flat 
top on which to place the vessel for containing the 
incense. . 

When incense is spoken of by the early writers, 
frankincense, in one or other of its forms, was generally 
alluded to. The connection between it and myrrh, 
however, was so close, that we may almost deem them 
of equal importance in relation to the religious cere- 
monies. Myrrh probably occupied a medium place 
between an incense and a spice, having the qualities of 
both. This, like frankincense, is a kind of gum-resin, 
issuing by incision from the trunk and larger branches 
of a tree growing in Arabia, Egypt, and Abyssinia. 
Bruce, the celebrated traveller, communicated to the 
Royal Society a paper on the subject of myrrh, frum 
which we can collect the results of his experience. 
He says : — " The ancients, and particularly Dioscorides, 
have spoken of myrrh in such a manner as to leave us 
no alternative but to suppose either that they have de- 
scribed a drug which they had never seen, or that the 
drug seen and described by them is absolutely un- 
known to modern naturalists and physicians. The 
Arabs, however, who form the link of the chain be- 
tween the Greek physicians and ours, in whose country 
the myrrh was produced, and whose language gave it 
its name, have left us undeniable evidence that what 
we know by the name of myrrh is in nothing different 
from the myrrh of the ancients, growing in the same 
countries from which it was brought formerly to 
Greece, that is, from the east coast of Arabia Felix, 
bordering on the Indian Ocean, and that low land in 
Abyssinia, on the south-east of the Red Sea, included 
nearly between the twelfth and thirteenth degrees of 
north latitude, limited on the west by a meridian pass- 
ing through the island of Massowa, and on the east by 
another passing through Cape Guardafui. This coun- 
try the Greeks knew by the name of the Troglodytria. 
The myrrh of the Troglodytes was always preferred to 
that of Arabia, and it has maintained this preference 
to our day. That part of Abyssinia being naif over- 
run and settled — half wasted and abandoned— by a bar- 
barous nation from the southward, very little com- 
merce or correspondence has since been carried on 
between the Arabians and that coast, unless by some 
desperate adventures of Mohammedan merchants, 



made under favourable and accidental circumstances, 
which have sometimes succeeded, and very often like- 
wise have miscarried. 1 ' 

This Abyssinian myrrh is exported from the country 
at a small island in the Red Sea, but the quantity is 
very small compared with that from Arabia. The na- 
tives use the gum, leaves, and bark for various dis- 
eases ; and they also use the wood of the tree for 
timber, from which it results that a smaller quantity 
of the gum-resin is exported than would otherwise be 
the case. In order to have myrrh of the first or most 
perfect sort, the Abyssinians choose a young vigorous 
tree, whose bark is Without moss or other parasitic 
plant. Above the first large branches they make a 
deep wound with an axe, and the myrrh which flows 
through this wound is the finest kind, but small in 
auantity. This operation is performed some time after 
the rains have ceased, that is, from April to June ; -and 
the myrrh exudes in July and August The sap, 
when once accustomed to issue through the gash, con- 
tinues so to do spontaneously at the return of every 
season ; but the tropical rains, which are very violent 
and continue nearly half the Year, wash so much dirt 
and lodge so much water in tne gash, that in the se- 
cond year the tree begins to rot and turn foul in that 
part, and the myrrh becomes thence of an inferior and 
lower priced quality. The myrrh produced from 
gashes near the roots, and in the trunks of old trees, 
is also of inferior quality. The worst kind is gathered 
from old wounds or gashes formerly made in old trees, 
or it consists of myrrh which has hung unnoticed on 
the tree for a whole year. 

Bruce says : — " It may be remarked, that when we 
buy fresh or new myrrh, it has always a very strong, 
rancid, oily smell ; and when thrown into water, glo- 
bules of an oily matter swim upon the surface. This 
greasiness is not from the myrrh; it is owing to the 
savages using goat-skins anointed with butter (to make 
them supple), wherein to put their myrrh at gather- 
ing ; and in these skins it remains and is brought to 
market." 

Myrrh has a fragrant odour and a bitter aromatic 
taste. It is usually sold in two forms — coagulate, or 
nails, and stacte, or drops ; the latter being the most 
pure and valuable. The stacte are translucent, of a 
reddish yellow colour, brittle, and easily pulverized. 
It does not melt when heated, and is not very inflam- 
mable. It is partially soluble in water, alcohol, and 
aether. By various modes of treating it, an extract, an 
essential oil, and a tincture are prepared. An " oil of 
myrrh" is prepared by enclosing some powdered 
myrrh in the white of a hard-boiled egg, and setting 
it in a moist cellar : the albumen becomes liquid, and 
imbibes nearly all the smell and taste of the myrrh. 

Myrrh enters into the composition of many medicinal 
preparations, for both external and internal applica- 
tion, but its value in this respect has been rather 
lessened than increased by the researches of modern 
practitioners ; not that it is found wanting in efficacy, 
but that other substances, more easily procurable, are 
at the same time more efficacious. 

It is said in the 'Pictorial Bible:'—" It has been re- 
cently ascertained that the myrrh is obtained from a 
species of balsamodendron which is very much allied to 
the balsamodendron koto, and its resin is now called 
balsamodendron myrrha. It is a native of Arabia, 
where it forms stunted groves, which are intermingled 
with species of acacia, moringa, &c." It is probable 
that the same circumstances which, iu Bruce's time, 
prevented the Abyssinian myrrh from being so much 
known in other countries as that from Arabia, may be 
still in operation, and that, commercially, if not bota- 
nically, Arabia may be deemed the country whence 
myrrh is procured. 



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A DAY AT THE BUTTERLEY IRON-WORKS, DERBYSHIRE. 



Among the various manufacturing establishments 
which our country exhibits, there are few so important, 
so interesting to a stranger, and conducted on a scale 
of such great magnitude, as the more distinguished 
Iron-Works. Whether we go into South Wales, 
Shropshire, or South Staffordshire, into Derbyshire, 
or the West Riding of Yorkshire, or into the dis- 
trict of Scotland lying eastward of Glasgow, we find 
these smoking, fiery, ever-active works; where the 
precious metal iron (more precioiiB by far than gold or 
silver in relation to the prosperity of a country) is 
extracted from the crude ore found beneath the soil. 
If the geological character of these districts be ex- 
amined, it will be found that the iron-ore itself, and the 
coal which is necessary for smelting it, are found lying 
in beds or seams near each other; and that in some 
of the British mines not only may coal and iron-ore be 
dug out of the same pit, but they are actually combined 
in the same scam or bed. 

The establishment, which, by the obliging permission 
of the proprietors, we are enabled to describe on the 
present occasion, is one of the most complete of its 
kind, and is well fitted for illustrating all the various 
points connected with the iron manufacture. From 
the mining of the crude iron-ore, extracted from the 
earth at a depth of five or six hundred feet below the 
surface, to the production of a highly finished steam- 



no. 764. 



engine, every stage of the process is here conducted. 
Step by step is the value of the metal increased by the 
labour and skill bestowed upon it; and the means are 
afforded for seeing it in all its various states. The 
Butterley Iron-Works, to which we here allude, are 
situated in the eastern part of Derbyshire, near the 
confines of Nottinghamshire, and about four or five 
miles eastward of the Ambergate station on the North 
Midland Railway. There are in fact two works, the 
"Butterley" and the " Codnor Park;'* but as they 
arc intimately connected, and owned by the same 
Company, we here speak of them as one. 

On proceeding from the Ambergate station towards 
the works, we pass through the village of Ripley, in- 
habited for the most part by persons employed at the 
Works in various capacities; and immediately on 
leaving the village the flame and smoke of the blast- 
furnaces point out the locality of the Iron-Works. This 
ever-enduring flame is one of the most remarkable 
features of all such works, and is in Staffordshire espe- 
cially observable, from the large number of furnaces 
there congregated. An iron-furnace is a most un- 
tiring laboratory : it works night and day, Sunday and 
week-day, never stopping an instant for months, or 
perhaps years together; it is always nearly full of 
fiercely burning materials, and is replenished at the 
top as fast as the product is drawn out at the bottom ; 

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and its top being generally open to the air, a vivid body 
of flame is almost continuously shooting upwards, 
visible for many mile 3 in every direction. 

When within the gates of the Butterley Works, we 
And an area of many acres filled with various buildings 
incidental to the manufacture of iron. Of these the 
most important are three large blast-furnaces, with all 
the arrangements for producing either the hot blast or 
the cold blast. Those who have not seen a smelting- 
furnace (for they are called indifferently ' blast * or 
* smelting * furnaces) have but little idea of their ap- 
pearance. They are huge and clumsy erections, forty 
or fifty feet in height, and formed so as to possess great 
strength and great power of resisting heat. In some 
instances they are conical, like a glass-house ; in others, 
such as have recently been erected near Glasgow, they 
are nearly cylindrical. At the Butterley Works they 
have a square horizontal section, and partake in their 
general appearance and construction much of the cha- 
racter of Egyptian buildings, especially in the opening 
which forms the lower mouth of the furnace. The 
furnaces are about forty-five feet in height: they 
are built of stone quarried in the neighbourhood, 
and are lined internally with fire-bricks and cement 
capable of resisting heat. 

When we walk round these furnaces, we find that 
they are all three bounded on the eastern side by an 
embankment nearly as hijjh as the furnaces them- 
selves ; and on ascending this embankment by a flight 
ofsteps, the surface of the embankment presents itself 
as a nearly level road, terminating at the furnaces at 
one end, and at the mines and collieries at the other. 
This arrangement, as we shall hereafter explain, 
affords great facilities for filling the furnaces. Near 
this embankment is a lengthened area occupied by an 
enormous heap of ironstone undergoing the prepara- 
tory process of roasting ; some thousands of tons being 
thus strewed over the place. 

When we descend from this elevation to the level of 
the works, and pass round to the front of one of the fur- 
naces, we find all the busy and remarkable arrangements 
for casting the melted iron into sand moulds. A very 
large roofed shed extends in front of the mouth of each 
furnace ; and the floor of this shed or foundry has in it 
various earthen pits in which to make large castings ; 
together with cranes for raising and shifting ponderous 
vessels filled with the melted iron. If these places be 
visited about four in the afternoon, or perhaps still 
more at four in the morning, at which hours the fur- 
naces are emptied of their liquid metal, the glare of 
light thrown around from the mouth of the furnace, 
on the swarthy persons of the workmen, as well as on 
the dark roof and walls, together with the current of 
white hot liquid metal as it flows to the moulds, pre- 
sents a very striking scene. If one of our distinguished 
painters in oil (for plain black and white cannot repre- 
sent such a scene) would condescend to visit an iron- 
foundry at such a time, and transfer to his canvass what 
meets the eye, he might produce a picture in which 
the play of light and shade would be remarkable 
enough, and might at the same time convey an idea of 
the warm work to which furnace-men are exposed. 

Beyond and around the furnaces and their foundries 
are various other buildings pertaining to the manu- 
facture of pig and cast iron (the Company's wrought- 
iron is made not at Butterley, but at Codnor Park) ; 
and the greater part of the remainder are occupied by 
engineers and machine-makers. The Butterley Com- 
pany, as before observed, carry on this department, as 
well as the manufacture of iron. In some of the lower 
buildings are powerful machines of various kinds for 
workinjg up iron and other metal into various parts for 
steam-engines and other pieces of mechanism. Plan- 
ing-raachines, for producing a perfectly level surface 



on a plate of metal of any size ; lathes for turning 
shafts, pillars, and all other articles of metal having a 
circular section; other lathes for cutting screws of 
almost every diameter and size of thread ; drills for 
piercing holes in metal, whether an eighth of an inch 
or three or four inches in diameter, whether through 
a mere sheet or through a thick plate; boring-ma- 
chines for finishing circular surfaces which have been 
roughly produced by casting; filing-machines, for 
giving to small pieces of metal the form and smooth- 
ness which are usually given by hand-files ; — these are 
some of the various machines with which the engineer- 
ing shops are provided, by whose aid the workmen are 
enabled to fashion all the parts of a steam-engine or 
other piece of apparatus. Another fine room, recently 
built, is occupied by pattern-makers, who form in wood 
exact patterns and counterparts of all the articles 
which are to be cast in the foundry or made by the 
engineers. A lofty building, of a rougher^ and more 
ponderous character, is the erecting-shap* where all 
the steam-engines and other machines made are 
put together in a complete form, to see that every 
part performs its wonted office ; the cranes for lift- 
ing are of vast power, and there are other arrange- 
ments for testing the strength and fitness of the va- 
rious pieces of metal. In an open space of ground 
between some of these buildings, the larger structures 
of cast-iron are put together and adjusted before being 
sent from the works. All the arches, suspension - 
bridges, roofs, and other structures now so frequently 
made of cast-iron, are always put up in a more or less 
complete form at the works of the manufacturer 
before delivery ; and a large open space is necessarily 
required for this purpose, in the open area above 
alluded to there are railways laid down, cranes erected, 
and all the appliances for raising and adjusting the 
ponderous masses of cast-iron which enter into the 
formation of such structures, many such masses ofteu 
weighing from ten to twenty tons. Among the en- 
gineering-works thus made and adjusted at Butterley 
have been — Vauxhall Bridge, a fine railway bridge at 
Selby, another near Nottingham, bridges and castings 
for the Caledonian Canal, for Dublin Harbour, for 
Leilh Harbour, for the East and West India Docks, 
and others of analogous character. 

When on the level of the embankment which com- 
mences near the top of the blast-furnaces, we find a 
line of railway extending eastward. This railway is 
in connection with others, branching off at various 
points, and in different directions ; the length and 
number of these branches being such that there are 
nearly twenty miles of railway on the whole works be- 
longing to the Company. As soon as we get beyond the 
precincts of the Butterley Works, we find a pleasant 
open country before us, dotted here and there, how- 
ever, with collieries and the mouths of iron-mines. 
All the open district between the two works, and to a 
great distance on either side and beyond, are in the 
hands of the Company ; and as the seams of coal and 
iron-stone extend beneath the whole district, there 
have been numerous pits sunk for the extraction of 
these valuable materials. These may, in fact, be con- 
sidered as so many distinct establishments ; each col- 
liery being under a distinct manager, who has under 
his care several pits or shafts, a large number of steam- 
engines, a body of miners, and all the arrangements 
for conveying the produce from the Works. Each 
colliery or establishment of this kind has a distinct 
name by which it is known. One of these, for example, 
the " Butterley Park Colliery," being the one nearest 
to the Butterley Works, has twelve iron-stone pits or 
shafts, five coal-pits, a steam-engine of 70 horse-power, 
for pumping the water from the mines, and eleven 
other steam-engines of smaller power, for raising the 



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miners and the materials from the pits. All the other 
collieries scattered over the Company's property re- 
semble in their general features this one. The mode 
of descending the shafts is very convenient and expe- 
ditious. The shafts are lined cylindrically with brick- 
work, and there is an iron platform which nearly fits 
each, and which travels from top to bottom nearly as 
a piston would in a cylinder. We descended one in 
which the platform, containing four persons, was sus- 
pended by a flat rope made of iron-wire (one of the 
improvements of modern times), and a steam-engine 
lowered us all with swiftness and regularity to the 
bottom, a depth of five or six hundred feet. The 
various galleries of the mine, extending horizontally 
from the bottom of the shaft, were arched passages of 
the usual character, but tolerably clean and free from 
water ; and miners were there at work, cleaving and 
blasting the iron-ore, and the coal afterwards to be 
used in the manufacture of iron. The various laby- 
rinthine passages belonging to the different collieries 
form a net- work, extending beneath an area of about 
six square miles in extent. 

When on the railway above, we may proceed onward 
nearly in a straight line from the Butterlcy Works to 



the Codnor Park Works, a distance of about three 
miles, or may follow any of the branch railways right 
or left to the various collieries. The Cromford Canal, 
passing through or close by a considerable portion of 
the district, affords great facilities for the transfer of 
materials and goods. After passing the Company's 
canal-wharf at a spot called Golden Valley, and a 
brick-work, which iorms part of their busy circle of 
operations, we pass over a bridge which has beneath it 
a railway laid along an inclined plane, terminating at 
the lower end in a wharf on the hanks of the canal, and 
at the upper end in a very extensive coke-work belong- 
ing to tne Company. This is another interesting feature 
in the district ; for wherever there is coal fitted for 
making coke, a new branch of trade may be esta- 
blished, deriving great importance from the extensive 
use of coke in locomotive engines. The employment 
of coke in smelting iron is, as we shall explain further 
on, not now so general as it has been ; but the Com- 
pany, after supplying their own wants, have established 
a large sale or coke from this spot. The appearance of 
the coke-work is altogether singular. On ascending 
the inclined plane, a range of about a hundred 
coke-ovens is seen, lying somewhat in horse-shoe 



[Coke-Ov«?u».1 



form. Each oven is a brick structure eight or ten feet 
high, having a flat roof with an opening at which to 
introduce the coal, and another opening in front at 
which to remove the coke. All being arranged con- 
tiguous, there is a railway running along the roofs of 
all of them, at a distance of two or three feet from the 
charging-holes. There is a colliery close to the ovens ; 
so that the coal is no sooner drawn up to the mouth of 
the pit, than it is wheeled along the railway, and 
emptied into any one of the ovens. In theBe ovens 
the coal is kindled without access of air, and is de- 
prived of its bituminous and more inflammable ingre- 
dients by the usual process of coking. When the coke 
is removed from the ovens, and ready to be taken 
away from the works, it is placed in carriages on the 
railway, and, by an ingenious arrangement of ropes, is 
allowed to descend the inclined plane to the canal by 
its own weight, drawing up at tne same time a train 
of empty carriages to be refilled. 

These are some of the matters which come under 
observation on the way from Butterley to Codnor 
Park ; and on arriving at the latter, we find that it 
presents a large and busily occupied area, full of 
smoke and bustle. Iron is made at Codnor Park, as 
well as at Butterley, there being three blast-furnaces 
at each place ; but the iron is in most cases applied to 
a different use. At Butterley the greater part of the 
castings are made, as well as all the engineering; 
while at Codnor Park wrought-iron is the chief 
product. The furnaces at Codnor Park are placed 
on a different level from those at Butterley, with 



respect to the railway, insomuch that the minerals 
cannot be thrown into the furnace in the same way. 
The railway bringing the minerals from Golden Valley 
and from the collieries is about at mid-height of the 
furnace ; and from this level the coal, ore, and lime- 
stone are lifted to the level of the charging-hole ; in 
two of the instances they are raised on a platform 
elevated by a kind of pision moving in a cylinder ; 
while in tne other case they are propelled up a very 
steep inclined railway to the mouth of the furnace. 
Contiguous to these furnaces is an enormous pile of 
ironstone, containing probably twenty thousand tons, 
either already roasted or undergoing the process of 
roasting, preparatory to that of smelting. 

The interior part of the works is occupied chiefly by 
buildings incidental to the making of wrought-iron ; 
the nature of which we shall notice presently. 

After this general glance at what we may term the 
topography of the various establishments forming the 
Works, we shall be in a condition to trace briefly the 
order of processes carried on therein, so far as to show 
the broad features of the iron manufacture. The 
niceties and technical difficulties of the subject will 
of course not be touched on here. 

In the first place, then, it will be necessary to show 
from what iron is made, and how it is found. Is it 
found pure or earthy, heavy or light, moist or dry ? Is 
it found in small pieces or in large layers, deep in the 
ground or near tne surface ? Such questions are very 
likely to occur, and deserve a clear answer. The metal 
is found combined with various earthy substances in 

L 2 



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[February, 1844. 



a stony dark-coloured ore called ironstone, which ore 
differs in different districts, some containing a larger 
per centage than others of pure iron, some containing 
clay hut no lime, some lime hut no clay, some hold- 
ing a small quantity of coal, while others have none ; 
hut nearly all containing water, silex or flint, sulphur, 
and carbonic acid. The ore occurs in beds of vary- 
ing thickness ; some of those at Butterley are from 
four to Ave feet thick, and as the beds are generally 
inclined to the horizon, there are parts where they 
' basset' or * crop * out at the surface, while at other 
parts the bed may be many hundred feet below the 
surface. There are generally a great many beds or 
seams one beneath another, separated by beds of other 
mineral ; and in all such cases every bed has a local 
name applied to it. Thus, in the Butterley Park 
Colliery, the several seams of ironstone receive the 
somewhat odd names of the * tan-yard/ the ' cement,' 
the * black,' the ' blue/ the * old man,' the * whetstone/ 
the 'wallis/ the • nodule/ the 'stripe/ the ♦ kittle/ 
and the * green meadow/ 

We will suppose that any of these kinds of ironstone 
have been mined by gunpowder, brought up to the 
top of the pits, wheeled along the railway, and depo-; 
sited near the blast-furnaces at either of the two works.* 
The ne,xt question is — how to extract the metal from 
the ore. The other ingredients being almost utterly 
valueless, the object of the smelter's attention is to get 
as much iron as possible from the ore ; and his plan is, 
first to drive off those impurities which will escape in 
the gaseous form, and then to act on the more refrac- 
tory ingredients. 

The process of roasting the ore is for the purpose of 
effecting the first of these two changes, as well as for 
bringing it into a state more readily acted on in the 
furnace. It is thus that the huge heaps which we 
have before alluded to, accumulate near the furnaces ; 
all the stony masses being slowly burned or roasted in 
the open air before being thrown into the furnace. In 
some districts the roasting is effected in furnaces, the 
new ore being supplied at the top as fast as the roasted 
ore is extracted at the bottom. But we believe that 
at most of the larger works the roasting is effected in 
the open air ; there is a layer of coal laid in a large 
level piece of ground, then a layer of ironstone in 
pieces of moderate size ; then another layer of coal, 
and so on to the height of several feet, an external 
thatching or coat of small coal being laid over all. A 
fire is kindled at one end, and works its way slowly 
to every part of the mass, roasting the ore as it pro- 
ceeds. 

The ' raw-mine or ' green-mine' (for the workmen 
apply the term • mine' to what we have called ore or 
ironstone), being thus converted into ' burnt-mine/ it 
is ready for the blast-furnace, to have the earthen in- 
gredients removed from it. This is done by a process 
which illustrates what by chemists is called * affinity/ 
Lime and clay have a greater affinity for each other, or 
a greater tendency to combine together, than either of 
them with iron ; and the smelter takes advantage of 
this circumstance to separate the metal from its ac- 
companying impurities. If the ore be an argillaceous 
or clayey ironstone (which is generally the case), he 
adds limestone to it ; if it be a calcareous or lime iron- 
stone (which in some places occurs), he adds clay. 
Thus, the ironstone of the Fore9t of Dean in Glouces- 
tershire contains lime, and requires clay as a flux or 
separator ; while the ironstone of Derbyshire contains 
clay, and Tequires lime as a flux. The Butterley Com- 
pany have very extensive lime-quarries westward of 
their iron-works, where the limestone is quarried in 
large blocks, and either burned into lime for sale, or 
conveyed by the Cromford canal to the wharf at Golden 
Valley, whence it is conveyed by railway either to 



Codnor Park or to Butterley, to be broken into smaller 
pieces before being introduced into the furnaces. . 

But something more is necessary than ore and lime; 
there must be fuel to generate a heat sufficient to effect 
the separation. This fuel is either coal or coke, and 
used to be charcoal. The changes from one to the 
other of these three kinds of fuel have marked im- 
portant epochs in the history of the iron manufacture. 
Before the coal-mines were much used, and when our 
forests supplied materials for the fuel used not only for 
domestic purposes but in manufactures, iron was 
smelted with charcoal, as it is indeed at the present 
day in many foreign countries. Iron smelted with 
charcoal is, from the purity of the fuel, of very fine 
quality; but our national manufacture would have 
been almost utterly extinguished long ago, from the 
exhaustion of the supply of wood, had not the use of 
coal been introduced. 1 he employment of coal, how- 
ever, was not available in its native or raw state, since 
the sulphur and other foreign ingredients contained in 
coal would greatly injure the quality of the iron. It 
became necessary therefore to convert the coal into 
coke ; and hence arose the construction of vast coking 
heaps or * hearths' at iron-works. At some works the 
coke is made in ovens, as described in a former para- 
graph ; while in South Wales and Staffordshire it has 
been the custom to place the coal in the open air, in 
heaps containing thirty or forty tons each, and allow it 
to burn in a smothered or confined manner, covering 
the heap externally with ashes and earth to keep in 
the heat — a process which adds much to the vivid 
glare of the district at night. 

But the hot-blast bids fair to lessen and perhaps to 
supersede this wasteful mode of making coke, by 
affording the means of smelting with coal in its un- 
coked state. This most important invention we can- 
not well understand till after noticing the general 
operations of a blast-furnace, to which we will at once 
therefore proceed. 

A blast-furnace of the usual construction has inter- 
nally a square receptacle at the bottom, called the 
hearth, measuring about a yard in each direction. 
Above this is a cavity of varying shape, extending to 
the top, and in whicn the minerals are placed ; the 
hearth being the leceptacle for the melted iron as it 
flows from the ore. The proportion of the ingredients; 
introduced varies according to circumstances; among 
others, by the introduction of the hot-blast. For 
one of the kinds of iron now making at Butterley (and 
which may be taken as an illustrative example), two 
tons thirteen hundredweight of roasted ore, two tons 
five hundredweight of coal, and one ton of limestone, 
are put into the furnace for the production of one ton 
of iron. The materials, as we before observed, are 
brought to the furnaces by railway from the pits. 
They are transferred to a most ingeniously constructed 
carriage, where there is an iron vessel suspended at 
one end of a long balance or steelyard, which can be 
so weighted as to balance with any given quantity of 
mineral in the vessel. The vessel is a cylinder with a 
loose conical bottom, apex upwards, and this bottom 
is capable of being lowered so far as to let the contents 
of the vessel escape. A given weight of coal is put 
into the vessel, and a man wheels along the carriage to 
the mouth of the furnace, which is about six feet 
square, and which exhibits a vast and fiercely heated 
body of flame from the mass of burning materials be- 
neath. The carriage is wheeled on until the vessel 
passes into the furnace itself, and the man turns a 
handle whereby the conical bottom is lowered, and the 
coals precipitated in a circular stream into the fur- 
nace; after which the carriage is withdrawn, and a 
charge of ore and limestone similarly introduced. 
This mode of charging is a great improvement on the 



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common method, where the materials are thrown in 
from a hand-barrow in such a way as to fall unequally 



[Filling mast-Furnace. 

in the furnace, falling to one side rather than to an- 
other. 

The charges or fillings keep on uninterruptedly 
three or four times in an hour for day and night, never 
suffering further stoppage until the furnace is to be 
* blown-out,' either for repairs or through depression of 
trade. As the mass within sinks as fast as it melts, so 
is the supply kept up by addition at the top, so that a 
furnace of such a size as those at Butterley usually 
contains about a hundred and twenty tons ot burning 
materials at all times. 

We next come to notice the blast, by which the re- 
quisite intensity of heat is maintained. So enormous 
is the mass of burning materials, and so great the heat 
required for the separation of the iron from the ore, 
that any of the ordinary modes of supplying air or 
draught would be inefficient : there must be a constant 
and powerful current irresistibly forced on by a 
powerful engine ; and this current is called the blast. 
There are three apertures in the lower part of each 
furnace, on three sides of the hearth or receptacle, and 
in these apertures are inserted tubes called iwyeres or 
twpcrs, analogous to the nose of a bellows. These twy- 
eres are connected with a large reservoir or regulator 
filled with compressed air, the compressed air so Btored 
being forced into the regulator by a powerful steam- 
engine, acting on the principle of a forcing-pump. If 
the air were forced by the engine at once into the fur- 
nace, it would produce an intermitting, irregular blast, 
almost powerless at one instant, and excessively strong 
in the next ; an alternation which would greatly injure 
the operation of the furnace. A regulator is therefore 
provided (analogous to the fly-wheel of a machine), 
ty which an equable supply of air is forced into the 
furnace. The blast- regulator at Butterley is an enor- 
mous cylinder of iron, thirty feet in height by nine in 
diameter, and therefore capable of containing nearly 
two thousand cubical feet of air. The success of the 
smelting process greatly depends on the manner in 
which this blast reaches the mass of burning materials, 
and there are various minor adjustments whereby this 
can be regulated. In the furnaces at Butterley the 
hinder end of each twyere has a hole covered with a 
piece of talc, through which the fire can be seen ; and 
from the whiteness of the heat the smelter judges how 
the process is going on. 

Now, it is the substitution of hot air for cold air in 



the above operations that constitutes the hot-blast sys- 
tem. The cold-blast has a tendency to chill the mass 
of melted materials on which it is projected, and it was 
long suspected that great waste of fuel resulted thereby. 
It remained for Mr. Neilson, however, of the Clyde 
Iron-Works, to introduce an efficient remedy. About 
fourteen years ago he took out a patent for warming 
the air before it was introduced into the furnace, con- 
ceiving that the quantity of fuel so expended would be 
amply compensated by the efficiency of that employed 
in the furnace itself. The invention made its Way 
through many difficulties, and it gradually came into 
use throughout the iron-works of Scotland, and in 
many of those in England and Wales, . under licence 
from the holders of the patent. The patent expired in 
the autumn of last year ; and the use of this method is 
gradually extending, not only in this country, but on 
the Continent. At first the air was heated to about 
300°, but as there seemed no reason why it should not 
produce better effects if heated yet higher, the tem- 
perature has been gradually increased to 600°, or equal 
to the temperature of melting lead. The principle is 
simply as follows : — Near the furnace is a stove-room, 
so arranged as to heat a series of iron pipes to any re- 
quired degree of temperature. The pipes may he of 
any shape thought most desirable (at Butterley they 
have a rectangular section, measuring about nine inches 
by four) ; and the air passes through them on its way to 
the furnace, deriving heat (usually about 600° Fanr.) 
as it passes. One of the good effects of this system is, 
that it is found coal may be used in smelting, instead 
of coke, whereby a great saving is effected ; and there- 
fore in such works as those at Butterley, where coke 
used to be employed, coal is now used in the raw state, 
just as brought from the mine. 

The liquid iron resulting from the action of the fur- 
nace is allowed to accumulate for twelve hoMrs, at which 
time it is tapped, or allowed to flow out. There is a 
small hole at the bottom of the furnace, which is filled 
with clay after each tapping, and is broken open when 
the next tapping h necessary. In addition to this there 
is an opening somewhat higher, at which the scoriae, or 
floating impurities, flow off from the surface of the 
metal : the colour, consistence, and general appearance 
of this slag denote to the smelter the mode in which 
the process is going on. The slag flows into cast-iron 
boxes, and is thence removed to be used for roads, rough 
walls, and other coarse purposes. The iron is generally 
cast into rough oblong pieces called pigs, in the fol- 
lowing manner: — In front of the furnace is a flat 
earthen space covered with sand, and in the sand are 
made depressions or channels by a pattern, the coun- 
terpart of the pig. Down the middle of this space is 
one long channel, called the sow, from which branch 
off a hundred or more lateral channels or pigs, which, 
in the odd language of the workmen, " suck the metal 
from the sow." All being ready, the clay stopper to the 
hole in the furnace is broken away, and the white-hot 
liquid metal pours forth in a stream, and is conducted 
by a trough to the sow, from whence it branches late- 
rally into the pig-moulds. One by one these moulds 
become filled with the glistening liquid, until at length 
the whole present a most vivid and remarkable ap- 
pearance. The masses, or pigs, soon solidify, and are 
removed from the moulds wliile in a hot state ; and the 
hole, or tap, is securely closed up preparatory to another 
similar train of processes. 

Sometimes the metal, instead of flowing into pig- 
moulds, flows into a larger mould for forming some 
ponderous piece of cast-iron ; but more frequently it 
is, for the latter purpose, received in ladles or large 
vessels, and from thence poured into moulds. We 
may illustrate this by noticing what came under our 
own view. A part of the supply of melted metal was re- 



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& situation that the flame passes over an intervening 
bridge, and is then reflected down upon the raetaL 
This mode of applying heat has the effect of driving 
ofF the remaining carbon and slag. As soon as the iron 
begins to melt, the * puddler* watches the progress of 
the operation through a hole in the front of the fur- 
nace, and by means of a long bar stirs the pieces of 
iron, till all are equally acted on by the heat. When once 
the whole is melted, the puddler keeps the mass con- 
stantly stirred, changing his bars every few minutes 
to prevent them from melting. This operation, which 
exposes the workman to a great heat, is continued 
until the iron, by giving off an elastic fluid, becomes 



thickened, and separates into pasty lumps. These 
lumps are so turned over and combined by the puddler, 
by means of his rods, or bars, that he forms the whole 
contents of the furnace into five or six masses, called 
balls or blooms, averaging probably sixty or seventy 
pounds weight each. 

Then ensues a series of operations in which the fiery 
ball of iron passes from one workman to another with 
great rapidity, and gives a vivid and very bustling 
appearance to the forge-house. One of the blooms, 
or masses, is taken out of the pudd ling-furnace by 
means of a kind of tongs, and is quickly passed to the 
shingling- hammer. This ponderous machine, which 



l ruddling- Furnace and 

at the Cod nor Park Works weighs five tons, and 
requires a steam-engine of twenty horse-power to 
work it^ is simply a hammer worked up and down 
several times in a minute. The bloom is placed under 
this hammer, and is speedily wrought into shape, 
the workman turning it round so that it shall receive 
blows on all its sides, until at length it is hammered 
into a square or rather oblong piece. Then, before 
this piece has time to cool, it is passed to the puddle- 
ro/Zf, which consist of a pair of very large, hard, and 
heavy rollers working against each other, and having 
grooves on their surfaces. A man takes up the mass 
of iron, and places one end between the rollers ; it is 
instantly seized by them while revolving, and passed 
between them, receiving at the same time an elongated 
form from the groove through which it passes. 
Another man behind seizes it with tongs as soon as it 
is protruded, and transfers it back to the first man, 
who passes it through a smaller groove, and so on 
until the iron presents the form of a rough flattish bar, 
two or three jards in length. 

The iron is not yet in a finished or saleable state ; 
it still retains some of its former brittleness, and 
has another heating process to undergo. The rough 
bars are cut into pieces, piled together in groups 
of five or six each, and placed in the balling-furnace 
(a name which will probably appear to be a very 
inappropriate one), shaped a good deal like the 
puddling-furnace. Here the bars are heated to a 
welding-heat, and when taken out they are passed 
through rollers acting in the same way as the puddle- 
rolls, but having grooves of aflat, square, triangular, or 
circular form, according to the shape to be given to the 
bars ; or it may be that the grooves are such as will pro- 
duce railway bars. By this mode of welding five or six 
bars together, the iron acquires a toughness and mal- 



SiimgUng-l Jammer J 

leability which it did not before possess ; and in the 
case of iron of very superior quality, the same process 
is conducted a second time. In every pair of rolls 



[Rolling Har-lrou.] 

the grooves diminish in size from end to end, so that, 
as in the process of wire-drawing, the rod of iron 
becomes smaller and smaller at every^ successive draw- 
ing between the rolls. The two men, each with his 
tongs, manage the gradually elongating and still 
heated piece of iron, passing it to and fro, the one 
inserting it between the rolls, and the other seizing it 



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[February, 1844. 



as it protrudes and passing it back to his fellow work- 
man. Sheets of iron are made precisely in the same 
nay, the rolls being of such a size, and having a flat 
surface, such as will lead to the production of a 
broad thin sheet, instead of a bar or rod. 

The bars and sheets of iron thus produced have little 
more to undergo before they leave the Works. To 
reduce the bars to proper lengths, and the sheets to 
proper lengths and widths, they are subjected to the 
action of powerful shears, which cut the iron with a 
facility well calculated to astonish those who witness 
the process for the first time. The lower blade of 
each pair of shears is fixed, while the upper blade is 
moved slowly up and down by the power of a steam- 
engine ; and the bar or sheet to be cut is held by hand 
on the lower blade, so that the upper one may act upon 
it. In the case of railway bars, which must fit very 
accurately end to end, and which must be very exact 
in length, this mode of cutting would not be precise 
enough. The bars are in this case placed on a bench, 
to which a gauge is attached, and tne iron is cut by 
means of circular saws about a yard in diameter. 

The business of the iron-maker here ceases. He 
has made bars and sheets of iron ; and these now pass 
into the hands of others, who fashion from them the 
countless articles of everyday-life, from a nail to a 



[Cutting Boiler-I*Lttr«.] 

steam-engine. It will thus be seen that the Works 
which we have described exhibit all the successive 
stages of these processes. The quarries whence the 
limestone is wrought, the mines which yield the iron- 
stone and the coal, the canal and railways which 
transfer these minerals from one place to another, 
the ovens where the coal is coked, the ridges where 
the ironstone is roasted, the furnaces where the ore is 
smelted, the casting into 'pigs,' the founding into 
large pieces for engineering, the refining, puddling, 
shingling, and rolling, whereby cast-iron is changed 
into wrought, and the working up of these materials 
into steam-engines and other finished machines—all 
are to be seen at the various works of the Butterley 
Company, and form a series both instructive and 
interesting. 

A few words may here be added concerning what 
we may term the social or moral machinery of the 
place. Where the operations are extended over so 
wide an area, and partake of so varied a character, the 
number of persons employed must be very great. We 
believe that in busy times it amounts to nearly two 
thousand. As there are no large towns near, these 
workpeople form a sort of community, having not 



much intercourse with others, and this isolation gives 
to them many characteristic features. They have 
seldom shown a tendency to join in the outbreaks 
which have from time to time disturbed the manu- 
facturing districts, and there seems to exist between 
the employers and the employed a kind of mutual 
confidence, productive of many good consequences. 
Nearly all the bouses inhabited by the workmen belong 
to the Company, excepting, perhaps, those at Ripley. 
At the spot formerly spoken of, called Golden Valley, 
there is a village entirely occupied by the workmen ; 
and nearer to Codnor Park there is another, presenting 
many interesting features. It is called, appropriately 
enough, Ironvill^ and presents, with all due loyalty, 
its "King William Street," " Victoria Row," " Albert 
Row," &c. The houses are neatly built of brick ; and 
are of such a character that a four-roomed house, with 
a ire at little garden cither before or behind, is let at 
about 41. a year. 

In the mode of paying the workmen, precautions are 
taken against abuses, which are too apt to occur where 
the employers do not keep a watchful eye. Most of 
the operations in an iron-work are conducted by 
" piece-work," that is, the men are paid according to 
the quantity of their produce. Where four or more 
men are employed on the same mass of iron, one man is 
generally master over the rest, and receives payment for 
the whole, giving to each man the amount of his earnings. 
In such a case it is required by the Company that 
the wages shall not be paid in a public-house, and that 
the payment shall be in money ; the reason for the 
former rule is obvious, and the latter is to avoid tho 
evils and injustice of the "truck-system." As an 
incentive to frugality, a Savings* Bank has been 
established at the works, where the Company allow 
four per cent, on all deposits from the workmen. 
There is also a sick-fund established, through which, 
by a small monthly subscription, the workmen ensure 
medical attendance, medicines, and a monthly allowance 
in money, when ill. 

The little folks, too, are not neglected. It is a 
standing rule of the Company that no apprentice 
shall be received until he can read, write, and perforin 
the earlier processes of arithmetic ; and as this rule 
would press heavily on those who have not the means 
of acquiring education, the proprietors have built a 
large, commodious, and even elegant school, at Iron- 
ville, for the education of the workmen's children ; 
and it is, we believe, in contemplation to build a church 
there likewise — the school being at present licensed 
for the Church of England service on Sundays. 
The school-house has two school-rooms ; one for 
boys, and the other for girls. There are about a 
hundred of each sex attend the school, under the 
superintendence of a master and mistress, engaged 
expressly for the purpose. The usual and most 
useful branches of education arc taught, and, in 
addition, vocal music is taught on the system of Mr. 
Hullah. In every large group of children there must 
of course be a considerable number who cannot make 
the least approach to correct singing; but there are in 
this school many who go through concerted pieces with 
an accuracy which would do credit to '• children of larger 
growth ;" some of them, too, being able to ting off a 
piece of moderately difficult music at sight. To hear 
a song adapted to the tune of Auber's "Prayer" 
in Masaniello, and such a glee aa Webbes "When 
. winds breathe soft," sung, in three or four parts, by a 
little group of incipient miners or smelters — some in 
blue pinafores, and some in whitey-brown, and accom- 
panied by their sisters (for both schools join occasion- 
ally in theBinging-lessons) — is as novel as it is pleasant, 
as creditable to those who teach as it is welcome and 
beneficial to those who are taught. 



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81 



*.r;ymii Paphia ; 2, 



>lit*a Atlutlia; 3, Polyommatus Argus; 4, IJipparchia Panipliilus 
7, Lyraeuu Phlueai.] 



5, Melitcra Cinxia; G, Kemeobins Lneiua; 



CURIOSITIES OF BRITISH NATURAL 
HISTORY. 

Butterflies.— No. III. 

In our last paper on the Butterflies of our island we 
made some observations on their haustellate mouth, 
the structure of which we endeavoured to explain as 
succinctly as possible, comparing it with the mandibu- 
late structure of the mouth as exhibited by coleopterous 
insects- In both instances we showed now the varia- 
tions in the form and arrangement of the parts com- 
posing the mouth, whether those parts be modified into 
hard jaws or a slender tubular proboscis, were admi- 
rably in unison with the nature of the food on which 
the animal was destined to subsist. But it may be 
asked — Is the mouth only an organ for receiving and 
conveying food to the digestive apparatus? Do not 
insects also breathe through the mouth ? and if not, how 
is respiration performed? InsecU do not breathe 
through the mouth, whether mandibulate or haustel- 
late ; respiration is in fact carried on in a manner very 
different from that which obtains among the vertebrate 
classes. They have no lungs, like quadrupeds, birds, 
and reptiles ; nor gills, like fishes. Insects breathe 
through a series of pores disposed in regular succession 
along the sides of the chest and body. These minute 
orifices are termed spiracles or stigmata. In many 
instances these spiracles, which may often be seen with 
the naked eye, are capable of being closed and opened ; 
in some, however, they are always open and circular ; 



and in numerous insects they are defended by a pencil 
of hairs in order to prevent the intrusion of dust or 
other particles. These spiracles generally lead to two 
main internal branches running longitudinally, and 
termed Tracheae, whence multitudes of tubes are given 
off, dividing and subdividing ad infinitum, penetrating 
every part, and ramifying through all the viscera. 
These tubes appear generally to be simple, but some- 
times assume a beaded appearance, and sometimes 
numbers of them are dilated at certain intervals into 
sacculi, or reservoirs, partly perhaps for the preserva- 
tion of air, and partly, as is the case with the sacculi in 
birds, to lighten the specific gravity of the body. These 
tubes, however, are not confined to the body, they are 
continued into the wings, constituting the ncrvures, 
which are in fact air-tubes ; and in such insects as fold 
up the wings, beetles for instance, most naturalists, 
wc believe, consider that it is by forcibly impelling the 
air into these tubes that the expansion of the wings for 
flight is effected. Thus then, insects, it may be Baid, 
a¥e permeated by air, and to this circumstance their 
vigour and energy are greatly owing ; for every part of 
their organization and the nutritive fluids are under 
operation of oxygen ; and as fast as the fluids (or blood) 
become deteriorated, so fast is it renovated. 

If the multitude of these air-vessels surprises us, no 
less does their structure. As .far as observation has 
hitherto gone, the tracheae at least are found to con- 
sist not of a simple membranous tissue' forming a 
cylinder, but of two exquisitely fine membranes, between 



no. 7(55. 



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[M ARCH 2, 



which a spiral thread is interposed, bo as to form hy 
its close gyrations a cylinder iikc the worm-spring of 
wire used in bell-hanging:. The object of this wonder- 
ful contrivance is to give firmness to the tubes without 
interfering with their flexibility, to prevent their col- 
lapse without their being rigid or coriaceous. 

The external signs of respiration are not always to 
be perceived in insects : in some, however, as the bee, 
the great dragon-fly, and the large green grasshopper, 
it is indicated by the alternate expansion and contrac- 
tion of the abdomen, which M . Chabrier has described 
in detail. In the grasshopper M. Vauquelin found the 
inspirations to be fifty-five times in a minute. It is 
most probable that insects have the power of directing 
currents of air to any given part ; and it would appear 
that the noise of many insects, as of bees, flies, &c., 
is produced by the forcible expiration of air. Messrs. 
Kirbv and S pence consider that the vocal spiracles of 
the riymenoptcra and Diptera are those behind the 
wings. 

With the function of respiration the circulation of 
the blood is intimately connected, in most animals 
wc discover a more or less perfect system of blood- 
vessels, namely, arteries and veins ; but in insects a 
complete vascular system cannot be detected : yet we 
would not assert that blood-vessels arc altogether 
wanting ; indeed, a dorsal vessel extending down the 
back is very apparent, exhibiting a series of pulsations 
towards the head, and in transparent caterpillars this 
vessel and its pulsatory movements may be seen with 
the naked eye. 

We may here observe, that the chyle, or nutritive 
portion of the digested food, appears to percolate 
through the walls of the alimentary canal, filling up 
every space internally, and bathing the fine air-tubes, 
by the influence of the air of which it becomes altered 
in character, and analogous to the blood of other ani- 
mals.— Such, at least, is the general theory. 

Now to revert to the dorsal vessel : — This vessel con- 
tains a fluid which, according to Lyonnet, appears 
colourless, but when collected in drops is found to be 
of a yellow tint, more or less deep. A powerful micro- 
scope shows it to be filled with globules of inconceiv- 
able minuteness ; when this fluid is mixed with water, 
the globules lose their transparency and coagulate in 
small clammy masses, which after evaporation become 
hard and brittle, like gum. The nature, then, of this 
fluid, and the regular pulsation of this vessel, favour 
the idea of the latter being a kind of heart. 

Swaminerdam, indeed, asserts that he has seen tubes 
issuing from this dorsal vessel, which he has succeeded 
in filling with a coloured fluid ; but Cuvier and most 
writers have stated that it is not only closed at each 
end, but that there are no tubes leading to it or issuing 
from it, as is proved by the most elaborate researches. 
Lyonnet, who traced the nerves and ramifications of the 
bronchial tubes of nexpressiblc minuteness, could not, 
after the most painful investigations, detect either 
veins or arteries connected with this vessel, but re- 
garded it as open at the anterior end. 

Marcel de Serres states that the vessel can be re- 
moved without causing the immediate death of the in- 
sect; and many physiologists have been inclined to 
regard if as a secretory organ, but of what kind it was 
impossible to conjecture. This opinion we think un- 
tenable. 

According to Meckel, it is furnished with longitu- 
dinal muscular fibres ; but Strauss Durkhcim found it, 
in the chaffer at least, to consist of an outer membrane 
and an inner lining of circular muscular fibres. 

Strauss Durkheim's description of this dorsal vessel 
is very curious, and seems in some measure to recon- 
cile the conflicting views which have arisen from the 
observations of other microscopic anatomists. This 



vessel, he states, is divided in the chaffer into eight 
compartments, by a series of semilunar valves, so con- 
structed as to allow of the advance of the fluid upon the 
contraction of the vessel from the tail upwards to the 
head, but not of its retrograding. At the anterior part 
of the vessel the fluid issues through a perforation into 
the general cavity of the body, and meanders in streams 
between the various tissues ; but as at each contrac- 
tion, or systole, the vessel exhausts itself, there must be 
some means for keeping up a continual supply. It 
appears that each chamber has a valvular orifice on 
each side, communicating with the cavity of the body, 
and the valves are so ordered as to permit the influx 
of blood, but not the efflux ; hence, as the vessel dilates 
after each contraction, a quantity of blood is sucked 
in, which, as it cannot return by the same openings, 
must go forwards, from the structure of the internal 
semilunar valves, and thus is it kept in perpetual 
circulation — so that though, exclusive of this long ves- 
sel or heart, there is no vascular system, yet regular 
movements and currents of the fluid bathing the viscera, 
the muscles, the air-tubes and other organs, are main- 
tained. Both the contraction and dilatation of this kind 
of heart begin from the posterior chamber, and so up- 
wards in rotation. The number of contractions varies; 
they have been counted at from twenty to a hundred 
per minute. Such is an outline of the account given 
by Strauss Durkheim; we need scarcely say that the 
extent and divisions of this vessel differ in various 
species. More recently (1824), Professor Carus has 
published his observations on the circulation, as inves- 
tigated by himself in certain very transparent insects; 
and in addition to the meandering streams, evidently 
not confined by vessels, he considers that there is also 
a vascular circulation ; that besides the main current 
discharged from the anterior orifice of the heart, 
"another portion of the blood is conveyed by two 
lateral trunks, which pass down each side of the body 
in a serpentine course, and convey it into the lower 
extremity of the dorsal vessel, with which they are 
continuous." Dr. Rogot, in his * Bridgewater Treatise,' 
figures this kind of circulation in the Sembla viridis, 
from a delineation by Carus, in the * Acta Acad. Ca?s. 
Leop. Carol. Nat. Cur.,' vol. xv., pt. ii., p. 9. It ap- 
pears that these lateral vessels give off others, in the 
form of loops, supplying the antennae, the tail, the 
legs, and the wings, which again return the blood to 
the lateral vessels, and these again merge into the 
dorsal heart. A similar circulation is asserted to exist 
in the Ephemera marginata, figured and described in 
Dr. Goring and Mr. Pritchard's * Microscopic Illus- 
trations,' and fully detailed and illustrated by an en- 
graving on a large scale by Bowerbank in the ' Ento- 
mological Magazine,' i. 239, pi. 2. 

In butterflies the circulation is not easily made out, 
owing to the opacity of their epidermis, and the full 
covering of hairs, plumes, and scales with which the 
wings and body are invested. Yet from their activity 
and alertness, and the vigour of the muscles necessary 
to the exertions of their fanlike wings, we may rea- 
sonably suppose it of as perfect a grade as in most or 
any insects. 

Of these interesting creatures, children of summer, 
a beautiful group is at the head of this article : we 
shall give a brief description of them seriatim. 

1. The Silver-washed Fritillary (Argynnis Paphia). 
This beautiful butterfly, sometimes called the Great 
Fritillary, is generally spread over our island, appear- 
ing in June about the sides of woods, and flitting on 
rapid wings. The upper surface of the wings is of a 
bright orange-brown, with three rows of black mar- 
ginal spots, and with several black marks near the 
centre. The anterior wings are paler beneath, and 
the hinder wings beneath are brassy green, with four 



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transverse fasciae of silvery white. The wings are 
ample. The caterpillar is solitary, feeding on the 
wild viola canina, the nettle, &c. : it is tawny, with a 
yellow dorsal line, and beset with hairy spires; two 
dark lines run along the sides. 

2. The Pearl-bordered Likeness (Melitaea Athalia). 
This species, also termed the Heath Fritillary, is not 
uncommon in the more southern parts of England, 
and in Devonshire. It appears in June, and is found 
in the open glades of woods, and about heathy com- 
mons. It is subject to several variations of colouring, 
a circumstance which has led to some confusion of 
names. One variety is the Papilio Pyronia of Hijbner. 
The ordinary colouring is orange above, with undu- 
latory lines of black. The fore-winpcs beneath arc 
pale yellowish, with a few transverse lines of black at 
the anterior margin. The hinder wings below, with 
several black-edged spots near the base, and a curved 
band of whitish across the centre, and edged with nar- 
row lines of black ; the fringed margin of the wing is 
yellowish. The caterpillar feeds on the plantain and 
also on the common heath. It is spiny, of a black 
colour, and spotted with white. To this species is re- 
ferable the Papilio Maturna of some authors. 

3. The Silver-studded Blue Butterfly (Polyommatus 
Argus), Blue Argus. This elegant little butterfly is 
not uncommon in the midland and southern districts 
of England, flitting about in June, over clover fields 
and ground where the broom grows abundantly, on 
which herbs the caterpillar feeds. The male and fe- 
male differ much in colouring, the former having the 
upper surface of the wings of a deep blue, passing into 
black round the hinder margin, and bounded by a 
fringe of white. The wings beneath are bluish grey, 
with numerous ocellated spots, the hinder wings hav- 
ing on their posterior margin an orange band, con- 
taining silvery spots, margined by black crescents. 
The wings of the female above are of a dull brownish 
black, the anterior pair having a tawny margin. 

The caterpillar is green, with a brown line along the 
back ; oblique marks of brown, edged with white, along 
the sides ; and black head and feet. 

4. The small Heath Butterfly (Hipparchia Pam- 
philus), Golden Heath-Eye. 

This species is common throughout the whole of our 
island, frequenting short-grassed hills, upland pas- 
tures, and dry heathy grounds, and appearing in June ; 
a second flight occurs in September. 

The wings above are ot a pale orange or ochre 
yellow, with a fringe of long white hairs ; underneath, 
the fore-wings are clouded with ash colour, and have 
near the tip an ocellated spot of black with a white 
centre. The hinder wings below are clouded with 
greenish brown and grey, with two or three indistinct 
ocellated spots. 

The caterpillar is small and greenish, with the back 
dusky, and a white lateral line. It feeds on various 
upland grasses. 

5. The Glanville Fritillary (Melitaea Cinxia). 

On the adjacent continent this species is abundant, 
appearing in June ; but in England it must be consi- 
dered as of rare occurrence, though it is found in the 
Isle of Wight, on the bills about Dover, and along those 
of our southern coast. Its colour above is orange-red, 
marbled and spotted above with black and yellowish ; 
a row of black points runs parallel with the posterior 
margin of the hinder wings. The colour of the wings 
is paler below than above. 

The caterpillar is black, dotted with white, and with 
the head and pro-legs red ; it is gregarious in its habits; 
numbers collect together, and drawing around them 
the leaves of the plant on which they are feeding, cover 
the whole with a web of silk : as it is not till late in the 
autumn that they emerge from the egg, and moreover 



as they pass through the winter before assuming the 
pupa state, this habit of clustering together, within a 
snug tent, is the more requisite. They feed on various 
plants, as the speedwell, hawkweed, mouse-ear, &c. 

6. The Duke of Burgundy Fritillary (Nemeobius 
Lucina), small Fritillary. 

This species is rare in our island, or rather, perhaps, 
local in its distribution, being chiefly confinea to the 
south-eastern counties, appearing about the middle of 
May. It is said to be frequent near Cambridge. The 
wings are dark brown, the anterior pair having three 
transverse bars of irregular pale yellow spots, the 
marginal series being dotted in the centre with black. 
The hinder wings are almost similarly variegated. 
Underneath the wings are pale brownish yellow, the 
anterior pair having light spots interspersed with black 
in the centre, and a row of light spots, with a dusky 
mark in the centre of each, along the margin ; the 
hinder wings are similarly ornamented, but have two 
bauds of oval spots of a whitish tint, those forming the 
outer row being ed^ed with black. 

The caterpillar is stated to be oval, and depressed 
in figure, of a pale olive brown, with a black spot on 
each segment, and with the head and legs ferruginous. 
It is said to feed on the primrose and cowslip. 

7. The common Copper Butterfly (Lycaena Phloeas). 
In ever part of our island, and on the adjacent con- 
tinent, this pretty butterfly is tolerably abundant ; it 
extends to Asia, and occurs also in North America. 
It is light, quick, and active in its movements; and 
makes its appearance in June, July, and August. The 
anterior wings, which are not indented at the edge, are 
of a rich copper colour, spotted with black, and broadly 
margined with the same. The hinder wings are 
brownish black, with a copper band posteriorly, spotted 
along the margin with black. Under surface of the 
wings paler. This species is subject to considerable 
variations of colour. 

The caterpillar of this butterfly is described as being 
of a green colour, with a yellow stripe down the back ; 
it is said to feed on the sorrel . it appears to have been 
but recently ascertained. 

We need scarcely observe that the varied colours 
of the wings of butterflies arc produced by the miuute 
plumes or scales wilh which they are covered, and 
which, beneath a microscope, present very beautiful 
objects. These scales are of very different forms, and 
variously arranged, but mostly in an imbricated style, 
with more or less regularity. They are inserted into 
the membrane by a short footstalk or root, but their 
attachment is comparatively slight, whence they are 
brushed off by a touch. Not only are they often richly 
coloured, but they are marked with striae, and often 
crossed by finer lines, and these striae by the re- 
flexion of the light at different angles produce vary- 
ing tints of brilliant or metallic effulgence. Some 
idea of the almost endless variety of form and mark- 
ings which the scales of butterflies and moths assume, 
may be conceived when we state that Lyonnet nearly 
fills six quarto plates with crowded delineations of the 
scales of one species of moth, viz. the Bombyx Cossus. 
Such is their minuteness, that they appear to the naked 
eye like a fine powder, and their numbers on the wings 
of a large butterfly almost defy calculation. Leeu- 
wenhoek counted upwards of 400,000 on the wings of 
a silk-moth, and it is calculated that in one square 
inch of surface of a butterfly's wing the number of 
scales will amount to about 100,740. When these 
scales are rubbed off, the wings are found to consist 
of an elastic, transparent, and very thin membrane; and 
when examined by means of a microscope, it will be 
found marked with indented lines, exhibiting the 
arrangement of the scaly covering. 



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LOCOMOTION OF ANIMALS.— No. VI. 



Walking. — By those who have studied the theory of 
walking, it has been found convenient to divide the 
time of a step into two portions, namely, that in which 
one leg, and that in which both legs rest on the ground ; 
at least this arrangement has been adopted by Borelii, 
Weber, and Bishop. In walking it is necessary that 
there should be at least one foot always on the ground, 
and there is no instant in which the body is not sup- 
ported either by one or both legs. In running, the 
case is different, as we shall hereafter see. 

The period wherein both legs are on the ground is 
shorter than that in which the trunk is supported by 
one leg only. During the time the body is supported 
by one leg the other leg swings from behind forwards ; 
and, being agaiu placed on the ground, the first inter- 



val ends, and the other, namely, that in. which the body 
is supported by both legs, begins, and terminates with 
the raising of the other leg. The time that the body 
is supported by both legs diminishes continually as the 
velocity is increased, and when it vanishes altogether, 
as in quickest walking, we arrive at the common 
limit of the quickest pace in walking and the slowest 
in running. Thus the two states in which the body 
is supported either by one or both legs alternate 
in such a manner that one begins at the instant the 
other terminates : and it is found by experiment that 
only in very slow walking is the time wherein both 
legs are on the ground equal to half that in which one 
only supports the body. 

We will now endeavour to illustrate the preceding 
remarks by means of a diagram. In Fig. 1, which 
may be conceived to be a horizontal plane, let us suppose 













Fig 


. 1. 












o 


L 


e 


<L 


a V C* 


i 


a 


b' 


« 
c 


d" 


*- 


s — ^ 








^— ^v 








^ 






% 




>r 




\ 


i - ■ x 




■ ., 












. - 


-A- 


^-^ 




V",'\- 




^~^ 








"-^ 



the upper series of lines to represent the left leg, the 
lower series the right, the straight lines the leg resting 
on the ground, the curved the leg swinging, and the 
letters a, b, &c. to denote the different periods of move- 
ment in walking. During a both legs are resting on 
the ground, and at the beginning of b the left leg 
rises from the ground, and swings forward until c 
commences, when both legs are again on the ground. 
During d the right leg in its turn rises and swings 
from behind forwards, whilst the trunk is supported 
on the left leg, represented by the upper straight 
line. At a! both legs are again in contact with the 
earth ; at b r the left leg again rises in its turn, and 
swings as before; and thus the two legs alternate 
their offices in succession. We observe that the period 
a, in which both legs are on the ground, is about half 
of b t during which the left leg is oscillating, and the 
figure is consequently an illustration of very slow 
walking, agreeably to what has been already mentioned. 
It should also be remarked that b 9 the period of swing- 

ing, is the middle of the space -, 6, -, which together 

constitute a single step. In Fig. 2 an outline of the 
human skeleton is represented in twelve positions as 
designed by Professor Weber, on a scale of one-tenth 
the natural size of man. The simultaneous relative 
positions of the head, trunk, and legs are preserved 
at each of these twelve instants, as viewed through a 
revolving optical instrument like a stroboscope, which 
lias been adapted for this purpose by Stampfer. By 
means of this instrument tne consecutive positions of 
the trunk and legs may be taken at very mmute inter- 
vals of time, a subject of great importance to the 
sculptor and painter of animals, but which under 
ordinary circumstances could not be accomplished. 
In Fig. 2 the numbers 1, 2, 3 show the right leg on 
the ground, and the left leg swinging in advance of it, 
just before it reaches the earth at the end of the step, 
seen at number 4. The numbers 5, 6, and 7, which 
are omitted to prevent confusion, are the successive 
positions of the two legs resting on the ground before 
the next step commences with raising the right leg : 
during this period the centre of gravity moves forward, 
and the right leg, when raised, is as it were left behind, 
and is found in the position of number 8. Numbers 
9, 10, and 11 show the successive positions of the right 
leg swinging behind the left; and 12, 13, 14, its posi- 
tions when it overtakes and passes the left leg, until 



it reaches the last position, number 1, which corre- 
sponds with the number 1 of the other leg, as above de- 
scribed. This excellent figure is necessarily compli- 
cated owing to the number of positions depicted ; but 
is easily understood if studied with the attention it 
deserves. 

In very slow walking, the centre of gravity is borne 
along in a more elevated position than in quick walk- 
ing ; indeed, whatever tends to elevate the centre of 
gravity, tends also to decrease the velocity of walking ; 
for the length of the hindmost leg, which is nearly the 
same in all paces, is equal to the square root of the sum 
of the squares of the height of the centre of gravity from 
the ground, and of the length of the step ; and conse- 
quently, the shorter the step, the greater is the height 
of that centre, and vice versd. This is observable in 
corpulent persons ; and in porters bearing burdens on 
the head and shoulders ; the scientific law being thus 
confirmed by experience. 

In slowest walking, the swinging leg passes through 
a less curve than in quick walking. In Fig. 3 we ob- 
serve the leg is placed on the ground in advance of the 
vertical line passing through the head of the thigh- 
bone ; and as a vertical line passing through the centre 
of gravity falls behind the base of support, the posterior 
leg cannot be lifted from the ground until the swinging 
leg has partially swung back again into a vertical posi- 
tion. During this period, both legs being on the ground, 
the time of the step is a maximum, because the dura- 
tion of a step consists of the time era ployed by the 
swinging leg in describing its curve, and the time 
wherein both legs are on the ground, both which quan- 
tities increase as the velocity diminishes. In this case 
the straight lines, a, Fig. 1, have the greatest relative 
length with respect to the curved lines, b. 

1 n quickest walking, the advanced foot reaches the 
ground in the vertical line which pasaea through the 
head of the thigh-bone, as in Fig. 4. Here the centre 
of gravity being entirely supported by the forward leg, 
the hinder leg is in a condition to rise from the ground 
the instant the other reaches it, and the time wherein 
both legs are simultaneously on the ground becomes 
evanescent. If the joints of the legs did not possess, 
as we have seen, a considerable freedom of motion, 
we should not be enabled to vary our speed as we now 
do ; because, as the length of the step increases, the 
height of the centre of gravity decreases ; and to accoin 
plish the latter, the forward leg must be much more 
bent when it reaches the ground than in slow walking, 



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85 




at seen m Figs. 3 and 4, the velocity of the man in 
Fig. 3 being little more than one half of that in Fig. 4. 
It is also in consequence of the power we possess of 
bending the legs, that we are enabled to move the 
centre of gravity nearly horizontally ; and thereby to 
move with a much greater velocity than we could do 
if our limbs were inflexible ; for a man with inflexible 
wooden legs is restricted from walking beyond a velo- 
city within very small limits, however great may be 
his muscular power. For example, when a man is 
walking with wooden legs, as in Fig. 5, the centre of 
gravity describes small arcs of a circle, of , which each 
leg is alternately the radius. Now, according to Dr. 
Young, if the velocity could be sufficiently great to 
create a centrifugal force exceeding that of gravity, 
each leg would be raised from the ground immediately 
after touching it, which would constitute running ; for 



in walking the body is always supported, either ly 
one or two legs; and supposing the inflexible leg to 
be three feet in length, the centrifugal force would be- 
come equal to that of gravity when the velocity in 
walking became equal to that which a heavy body 
acquires in falling through half the length of the leg, 
or one foot and a half, which is very nearly ten feet in 
a second, or seven miles in an hour. Tnis, then, is 
the extreme limit of velocity which a man could reach 
with wooden legs, or with legs whose joints have been 
rendered useless by disease ; but in reality be cannot 
move with anything like this speed, because he must 
place his swinging leg on the ground as much before 
the vertical through his centre of gravity as the other 
leg is behind it, and therefore his steps must be very 
short, and taken at a greater mechanical disadvantage 
than in the slowest walking of ordinary persons. In 



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Fig. 3. 




Fig. 4. 




Fig, 5. 




Fig. 5a. 



W' 




I forming any abrupt angles during its elevation and 
I depression, as seen in Fig. G, where the actual path re- 

Fig. 6. 



consequence of the flexibility of the legs, the path 
taken by the centre of gravity undulates without 




suiting from the flexibility of the limb is delineated ; 
whilst in Fig. Sa vvc see the abrupt manner in which 
the centre of gravity moves, and the curves begin and 
terminate; and we can readily imagine the jars to 
which the trunk would be subject in locomotion, if the 
legs were destitute of joints at the knee and ankle. 

The greatest velocity with which a person can walk 
(unless by an enormous expenditure of muscular 
action, which could not be maintained) is when the 
time of a step is equal to half the duration of the mo- 
tion of the swinging leg ; that is, the time which elapses 
from the raising of that leg until it is again placed on 
the ground, having described half its arc of oscillation, 
the hind leg during the same time pushing the trunk 
sufficiently forward, so that the centre of gravity may 
be vertically over the base of support, as in Fig. 4. 
Hence, if we suppose the leg capable of describing its 
arc freely in '730 parts of a second, the least time of 
the step will be 730 divided by 2, or '375 of a second. 
When the swinging leg is first raised from the ground, 
the trunk propels the head of the thigh-bone horizon- 
tally forwards, and communicates a retrograde motion 
to the lower extremity of the leg, in the direction of the 
tangent of the curve in which the leg oscillates. This 
retrograde force tends to retard the movement of the 
leg forward, and would materially lengthen the time 
of a step, but the leg being at the same time bent, and 
consequently shortened, to allow it to swing freely- 
above the ground, its movement is thereby as much 
accelerated as the retrograde action tends to retard it, 
and the result is that the leg swings in the same time 
as if these accelerating and retarding influences did 
not exist. The velocity in walking, then, in the same 
person, depends on the time taken in making each 
step, and on the length of the steps ; and both of these 
are again dependent on the height at which the centre 
of gravity, or the heads of the thigh-bones, are carried 
above the ground, for as the height of the latter dimi- 
nishes, the length of the step is increased, and the 
time of the step is decreased, and vice versd. The ve- 
locity of walking in different individuals depends 
greatly on the relative proportions of their framework, 
and on the vigour of their muscular system ; but it 
must be borne in mind that it is always the hind leg 
which has the work to accomplish, and by throwing it 
into the required position, and regulating its exten- 
sion, the speed may be adjusted to the figure of the 
individual. It is indeed owing to the dimensions of 
the several organs concerned in locomotion, and to the 
habit of the individual in applying the in, that each 
person has a step peculiar to himself, so that the very 
sound produced by the contact of the foot with the 
ground is sufficient to enable us to recognise the ap- 
proach of individuals with whom we are familiar, long 
before we see them. Compared with numerous species 
of the lower animals, the velocity of man in walking is 
very inferior. The best constituted persons are inca- 
pable of acquiring a speed of little more than five 
miles in an hour ; and even at this rate of motion they 
are quickly exhausted. Our expenditure of muscular 
power for the accomplishment of every step is very 
great, even when walking on a perfectly horizontal 



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path; but it becomes much greater when ascending in- 
clined surfaces, such as climbing the sides of hills and 
mountains. Under these circumstances the speed is 
diminished, and the muscular power is expended in 
raising the body upwards. During this period, the 
number of respirations, as well as the number of pul- 
sations of the heart in a second, augments, and a 
feeling of languor and fatigue communicates to the 
pedestrian the conviction that he has done as much 
work as his system will sustain without danger of over- 
fatigue, and too great a prostration of strength— a con- 
dition from which it often takes a long time to re- 
cruit. On the other hand, a due exercise of muscular 
action in walking is necessary, as we have already seen, 
to the healthy and vigorous play of the several organs 
of the human body. 



BARBERS AND SURGEONS. 

We are but too apt to overlook the slow and silent 
operation of the great principles upon which what is 
now known as the science of political economy are 
founded, although they are sufficiently curious and 
obvious, even in matters which might be deemed too 
high or too low to be thought within their influence. 
They prevail unconsciously in the progress of society 
from a low to a high state of civilization ; and the 
painted pole and decayed teeth which formerly desig- 
nated and ornamented the barber's shop, offer an ex- 
emplification of the results of a division and union of 
employments, interesting enough to justify a short 
notice of their history. 

It is a remarkable fact that the curative art, an art 
so highly beneficial and even necessary to the well- 
being of mankind, should for a very lengthened period 
have existed entirely or chiefly in a merely auxiliary 
state. Without going into any .historical proofs, we 
may state that in the earliest times it was auxiliary to 
the priesthood. Tn the middle ages it was practised 
by iemales of the highest classes, and, perhaps as a 
remnant of these ages in our own country, to a com- 

£aratively recent time, few villages were without their 
,ady Bountiful, who by their simples and specifics 
alleviated or aggravated, as it might happen, the ail- 
ments of the confiding rustics. 

The union of the barber with the surgeon is not 
very distinctly traced. The Egyptian priests, it would 
appear, shaved, and in the legislation of Moses {Levi- 
ticus, chap, xiv.) concerning leprosy, the treatment of 
which disease was intrusted to the priests, he directs, 
on the recovery of a leper, that the head, eyebrows, and 
beard should be shaved. This could hardly be done 
by the patient himself. Civilization, however, gradu- 
ally rendered the medical an independent, instead of 
an auxiliary art. Amongst the Greeks and Romans 
there were eminent medical practitioners; but in the 
East, where science dawned, but never attained its ze- 
nith, the medical profession was, and yet is, commonly 
united with that of the bath-keeper and the barber. In 
the middle ages of Europe it again merged into the 
priesthood, and monks and friars, with a few Jews, the 
disciples of the Arabians, were the general possessors 
of the healing art. But here superstition produced the 
same effect, for a time, that civilization would have 
more beneficially effected. 

In 1163 the Council of Tours prohibited the clergy 
from performing any operations in which there was 
loss of blood. Surgery was also banished from the 
universities, under the pretext that the church held in 
abhorrence all kinds of bloodshed. This separation 
was the more readily effected in consequence of the 
barbers and bath-keepers having assumed the practice 
of surgery. 

In France the Company of Barbers was formed in 



1096, when William, then Archbishop of Rouen, pro- 
hibited the wearing of the beard. The bath-keepers, 
who pretended to much medical knowledge, by pre- 
paring medicated baths suited to different diseases and 
constitutions, and also by previously preparing the 
body by laxatives and venesection, shared with the bar- 
bers for a long period the practice of the healing art. 
Meanwhile the mists of the middle ages were gradu- 
ally dispersing, and surgery, illumined by the science 
of anatomy, began its progress towards a new and 
brilliant position. 

The profession of the barber, in the course of time, 
combined the art of the chirurgeon with the craft of 
the perruquier. In France the barbiers-chirurgiens 
were separated from the barbiers-perruquiers in the 
time of Louis XIV., and made a distinct corporation. 
The barbers of London were first incorporated by King 
Edward IV., 1461, and at that time were the only per- 
sons who exercised the art of surgery. But this con- 
solidation of the two crafts could not be permanent. 
The gradual increase of wealth and luxury created a 
demand for superior skill in every department of me- 
dical and surgical science, and the consequence was, 
that persons of superior attainments began to apply 
themselves more to actual observation, and the acqui- 
sition of practical knowledge by a more careful study 
of the human body, and surgery was more enriched by 
the single discoveries of close observers than by all 
the preceding centuries of theory. These persons 
formed themselves into a voluntary association which 
they called the Company of Surgeons of London. The 
efforts of this association eventually effected the sepa- 
ration of the two crafts. By an Act passed in the 32nd of 
Henry VIII. these two companies were united and made 
one body corporate by the name of the Barbers and Sur- 
geons ot London, but it is remarkable that this nominal 
incorporation was their virtual separation, for the bar- 
bers were not to practise surgery further than the draw- 
ing of teeth, and the surgeons were strictly prohibited 
from exercising the feat or craft of shaving. This dis- 
junct alliance continued till the year 1745, when, by an 
Act passed in the 18th of Geo. II., the barbers and sur- 
geons were disunited and made two distinct corpora- 
tions. Prior to this, however, many of the barbers, 
notwithstanding the legal prohibition, continued the 

Inractice of phlebotomy and the curing of wounds. The 
ute or guitar, as in former times, formed part of the 
furniture of the shop, which down to the reign of 
Queen Anne was frequented by a class of persons 
somewhat above the common level of the people. The 
musical instruments were for the entertainment of the 
customers, and answered the purpose of the news- 
paper, which in aftertimes became the great attraction 
of a barber's shop. The barbers for a long period were 
distinguished by a professional idiosyncrasy, which has 
been noticed by Steele in one of the papers of the 
• Tatler.' In speaking of Salter, commonly called Don 
Saltero, a noted and eccentric barber, fiddler, and col- 
lector of curiosities, he asks, " Whence it should pro- 
ceed that, of all the lower order, barbers should go 
further in hitting the ridiculous than any other set of 
men ? Watermen brawl, coblers sing ; but why must 
a barber be for ever a politician, a musician, an ana- 
tomist, a poet, and a physician ?" But these profes- 
sional peculiarities gradually disappeared, and the 
barbers lost caste. In proportion as the profession of 
the surgeon rose into eminence and renown, that of 
the barber sunk into insignificance and obscurity. 
Anterior to this degradation, the two crafts of the barber 
and the peruke-maker were conjoined, and durjng the 
reign of Ann, and subsequently, when periwigs were 
in vogue, that of the latter was in a flourishing state ; 
but when, by the actual and complete separation of 
the barbers from the surgeons, the former declined in 



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importance and respectability, many of the wigmakers 
relinquished the feat of shaving, and established them- 
selves as perruquiers, hairdressers, and perfumers. 

Mr. Creech, in his statistical account of Edinburgh, 
records a similar revolution in the Society of Barbers, 
which affords an instance of the rapid progress of re- 
finement, or perhaps the increase of luxury, in the 
metropolis of Scotland. " In 1763 there was no such 
profession known as a perfumer ; barbers and wig- 
makers were numerous, and were in the order of 
decent burgesses : hairdressers were few, and hardly 
permitted to dress hair on Sundays, and many of them 
voluntarily declined it. In 1783 perfumers had splen- 
did shops in every principal street. Some of them 
advertised the keeping of bears, to kill occasionally for 
greasing ladies' and gentlemen's hair, as superior to 
any other animal fat. Hairdressers were more than 
tripled in number, and their busiest day was on 
Sunday. There was a professor who advertised a 
hairdressing academy, and gave lectures on that noble 
and useful art. What is here stated of Edinburgh is, 
with few exceptions, applicable to London. In 17G0 
there were in the English metropolis a great number 
of petty barbers' shops, which in defiance of the laws 
then existing were open on Sundays, " their busiest 
day/' and to which many persons resorted, not only to 
be shaved, but to be bled, for which they paid three- 
pence, and frequently had their arms lamed. It was 
also common at this period for barbers to send their 
young apprentices into the Fleet, Marshalsea, Bride- 
well, and other prisons during divine service, to shave 
the poor prisoners gratis, that they might improve 
their hands before they practised on their masters' 
customers. Barbers' men, commonly called flying 
barbers, were likewise to be seen, even down to a 
much later period, running about on the Sunday 
mornings with wig-boxes, containing the newly curled 
and powdered wigs of those who, possessing only one of 
these ornamental coverings of the head, could not send 
them to be dressed until late on Saturday night. 

Bleeding, notwithstanding the legal prohibition, con- 
tinued to be practised by many of the petty barbers 
till 1780. The shops of these professors presented a 
mean, dirty, and unsightly appearance; besides the 
parti-coloured pole* projecting from the door, there 
was in the lower part of the window a row of porrin- 
gers, either of pewter or blue and white delf, filled 
with coagulated blood ; while some»of the upper panes 
were adorned with a fanciful arrangement of rotten 
teeth ; and those artists who united to their vocation 
the art of dressing and renovating wigs, added the sign 
of an old grizzly peruke stuck on a wooden, feature- 
less block. 

Soon after this period, phlebotomy and shaving were 
completely disunited, and blood-letting, cupping, and 
the extracting of teeth became a distinct occupation. 
The bone-setters, another class of practitioners, who 
occupied themselves solely with the art of replacing 
dislocated or fractured bones, might now be considered 
as extinct. Here science had united the profession to 
that of the surgeon, who had studied anatomy. Wigs, 
which, from their varieties and general adoption, had 
for a long time been a source of emolument to the 
perruquiors, and given employment to a great many 
petty barbers and their apprentices in weaving of hair, 
were now going rapidly out of fashion ; and their com- 
plete extermination, excepting a few instances, and 
those worn as forensic costume, was effected by the 

* The barber's pole had its origin in the staff which was usually 
put into the hand of the patient while under the operation of 
bleeding ; and which, when not in use, had the fillet that bound 
the arm entwined round it. The painted pole, though of much 
larger dimensions, represents such staff with it« fillet wound 
spirally round it. 



French revolution, which brought into vogue crops 
and Brutuses. Hair-powder was also going out of 
use, being relinquished by some to avoid the tax of a 
guinea per annum, levied on those who wore it ; by 
others, to escape from the ridicule and odium of being 
pointed at and called guinea-pigs and aristocrat* ; and 
by a third party from political motives. 

These changes in the fashions occasioned great dis- 
tress among the barbers, especially those of the lower 
class. In 1792 the shops of those whose only employ- 
ment was shaving and cutting hair were of the meanest 
description; the pole, which, being no longer indi- 
cative of their calling, had been for some time thrown 
aside, was succeeded by a lantern, about a foot and a 
half square, made of oiled paper, on which was in- 
scribed, in black or blue letters, "Easy shaving," 
" Shave for a penny," or " The noted shaving-shop." 
These lanterns, which were suspended by a string 
fastened to a wooden or iron rod projecting over the 
door or window, swung and twirled in the wind, and 
at night, being illumined by a small candle, emitted a 
dull, hazy light, distinguishable enough amid the ge- 
neral gloom, which could scarcely be said to be even 
partially dissipated by the glimmering of the parish 
lamps. 

[To be continued.] 



The KinQfi9htr,—\\\ No. 724 an account was given (from the 
' Penny Cyclopaedia') of the nest of this bird, and of the dif- 
ferent opinions held concerning it. A correspondent, the gardener 
of a gentleman near Buntingford, in Hertfordshire, evidently an 
acute and careful observer, has since sent us the result of his 
investigation, which we give in nearly his own words : — " A pair 
of kingfishers bred close to my garden last season, and not being 
so much acquainted with them as I wished to be, I paid particu- 
lar attention to their habits. Tbeir nest was in a perpendicular 
bank, ten feet high, of a somewhat sandy soil. They made the 
hole themselves, which inclined upwards for about three feet, 
and at the end was a circular hole eight inches in diameter, 
where they deposited their eggs. 1 often visited the place, and 
used to look into the hole, which was not sufficiently large to 
admit my hand, and was in a very filthy state. Being anxious 
to get the young, I did not disturb them until I thought they 
were ready to fly. 1 then took a garden trowel, and made the 
hole large enough to admit my hand, taking notice of the 
passage as I went on. The bottom was covered with fish-bones 
to the depth of one inch, quite dry. When I reached the end, 
to my great disappointment, the young birds had flown. Being 
vexed at losing the birds, and anxious to see them again, I often 
cast my eyes towards the spot. About ten days afterwards I 
was gratified to see the old birds begin a fresh hole, which I 
thought I would not be so tardy in visiting. They made the 
hole very quickly, using their bills as a picker, and scratching 
like a rat. I think Montagu is wrong as regards their building 
in rats' holes, as there were some close by, but tbey seemed to 
prefer a hole made by themselves (I say building, but they have 
not any nest). In a fortnight after the hole was completed, I 
went and opened it so as to get my band in, when I found 
several fish, some whole aud others partly eaten. Tlie fish were 
of the sort called stoneroach, and much too large for the king- 
fisher (o swallow. It has been stated that the birds have never 
been seen carrying any food in their bills to their young, and 
that the birds swallow their prey and eject it again. This I 
believe to be a mistake, as I have frequently seen the birds with 
their food in their bills, and finding those fish in the hole is a 
further confirmation of the fact. In this hole I found six eggs, 
of the same sise, shape, and colour as described ( m No. 734, i.e. t 
" perfectly white and transparent, of a short oval form, weighing 
about a dram "). As soon as the old birds found their eggs 
taken, they immediately began a third hole, four feet from the 
last. In a few days I visited thera again, made the hole large 
so as to get at thera, and here I caught the old bird sitting upon 
one egg, making seven altogether, as there is little doubt but 
that this one was part of the number she intended to lay in the 
second hole. The bird was in a filthy state, as was likewise the 
hole. Whole fish, in a putrid state, were likewise found here. 
I do not think any pains were taken in inakiug a nest of the 
bones, as they were scattered all about the hole alike." 



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[Ilulme Hall, Lancashire.- Front View.] 



OLD ENGLISH TIMBER HOUSES. 

Ih England, previous to the reign of Henry VII., 
houses were commonly built with a framework of 
timber filled up with plaster. Even the humble cot- 
tage had its timber supports and • smoky rafters,' though 
clay and turf might be used to fill up the spaces between 
the timbers, and thatch covered the rafters. Not only 
single houses in the country, but streets in villages, 
towns, and cities were formed of this kind of timber 
and piaster-work. In districts where stone was abun- 
dant, stone houses were occasionally built, but they 
were far from common. Leland, writing of Evesham, 
in Worcestershire, immediately after the destruction of 
its great abbey in the reign of Henry VIII., says, " It 
is meetly large, and well builded with timber. There 
be divers pretty streets in the town." In London, 
indeed, where, from the large number and contiguity 
of the houses, fires were more frequent and extensive 
than elsewhere, an order was issued as early as the 
first year of the reign of Richard I., which directed 
that the lowest story should be built of stone, and the 
roof covered with slates or tiles. In other cities and 
towns, however, where no such regulation existed, the 
entire skeleton of the house continued to be made of 
wood. There are still numerous remains of this street 
architecture in the more ancient towns of England, 
such as Exeter, Bristol, Chester, and Coventry, where 
specimens may be seen worthy of the study of the 
painter, as well as the architect : it has not been entirely 
swept away by the flat uniformity of brick walls even 
from the streets of London : specimens of it, but old 
and dingy, and not by any means in the best style, 
may still be seen in Bishopsgate Street, Shoreditch, 
Wych Street, near Middle Row, Holbom, and else- 
where. In some towns, as Exeter for instance, large 
and lofty houses still continue to be occasionally built 
with a timber framework and plaster walls. 
The art of building with brick was introduced into 

no 7G6- 



England by the Romans, but in the troubled times 
which followed their departure it seems to have fallen 
into disuse, and so continued till the reign of Henry 
VII., though churches and castles, and occasionally 
houses, were built of stone. The mansions of the 
nobility were nearly all castles, with solid stone walk 
and massy gates, and those of the classes next below 
the nobility were castellated and fortified, at least 
all such mansions as were not within walled towns. 
The churches alone were safe ; and, under the encou- 
ragement of kings and nobles, and wealthy churchmen, 
ecclesiastical architecture reached a degree of per- 
fection which has not been surpassed in any age or 
country. 

Little attention appears to have been paid to the 
external appearance of these half-timber houses in the 
disturbed and warlike times which preceded the reign 
of Henry VII. ; but from that period a great change 
took place. The wars of the rival houses of York and 
Lancaster were at an end. The terrors and anxieties 
which had accompanied those wars were no longer felt. 
Peace came upon the land like a calm after a succession 
of destructive storms, and the people's hearts, which 
had so long been tl brimful of fear," were now as brim- 
ful of thankfulness and joy. Then there were games 
and sports in town and country, processions and masks, 
and the glorious old drama of England. Singing 
in parts was practised throughout the whole country, 
and madrigals and glees and songs resounded not only 
in palaces and halls, but in villages and farms, and the 
lonely cottage. 

This was, comparatively at least, a happy time, and 
through six successive reigns of peace the domestic 
architecture of England continued to be cultivated, 
and, as far as regards external appearance, reached its 
highest state of perfection. The homes of England 
became as fair to look upon without, as they were 
happy within. 

In the reign of Henry VII. some of the nobility and 



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wealthy classes began to build their houses with brick ; 
but timber continued in use with the great body of 
the people, rich as well as poor. Not only houses in 
the country, but streets in villages and towns were 
formed of timber in the indigenous old style, but with 
especial regard to beauty of appearance. 

This style of domestic architecture, which in its earlier 
state is called the Tudor style, and in its later state 
the Elizabethan style, may perhaps be appropriately 
called the style of the sixteenth century, commencing 
a9 it did at the latter end of the fifteenth century and 
terminating in the early part of the seventeenth. In 
its chief characteristics it is essentially Gothic, resem- 
bling that of the ecclesiastical buildings, but some 
parts are altered and others added to suit the difference 
between church architecture and house architecture. 
In the gables with their crowning pinnacles, in the 

fjorches, the doors, and the general forms of the mul- 
ioned windows, the resemblance is obvious ; but chim- 
neys, which are not required for the church, are 
characteristic of the house, and the overhanging of the 
floors and projection of the windows are still more 
striking characteristic differences. As the walls were 
formed of nothing more substantial than timbers and 
plaster, the overhanging of the stories was perhaps 
chiefly required to protect the walls from the weather. 
For the overhanging of the first-floor story there was 
another reason which especially applied to streets. 
Commodities of all kinds were exposed for sale in the 
open fronts of the shops, and were protected from the 
weather by the overhanging story. Less than half a 
century ago there still remained a silversmith's shop on 
Ludgate Hill which had a -projecting story and open 
front, the plate and jewellery being offered to view in 
separate glazed frames. The convenience of the pas- 
sengers also would doubtless be attended to in those 
times when umbrellas had not been brought into use. 
Ladies might go a-shopning even on a wet day, and 
walk the length of whole streets under a complete 
covering of overhanging stories. See a representation 
of old houses in Chester, in the 'Penny Magazine/ 
No. 256. 

In these half-timber houses the framework of all the 
walls consists of horizontal beams resting on upright 
timbers, which are sometimes very close to each other; 
where the upright timbers are more distant, diagonal 
timbers extend from the top of one to the bottom of 
the other, and so on alternately. Sometimes the dia- 
gonal timbers are curved or angular, or are otherwise 
varied in form. The floors, as we have said, generally 
overhang each other, and the roof is often continued over 
the top of* the framework, so as to form a protection from 
the weather at the top as well as the bottom. The roof, 
which was commonly high and sharp, so as to throw 
the wet off rapidly, was mostly relieved by dormer 
windows. The gables, which are extremely diversified 
and rich in their ornaments, are generally sharp in the 
inclination of their sides, corresponding with the steep- 
ness of the roofs ; and the gable-boards, the horizontal 
foot-board, and the triangular centre are often elabo- 
rately carved and ornamented, and the apex sur- 
mounted by a richly decorated pinnacle. 

Galleries and balconies of open carved-work were also 
frequent. The windows of the principal apartments 
were large and square, divided into compartments by 
mullions and transoms, which were not so massive as 
those of houses built of stone, but more rich in their tra- 
cery. Oriels or bay-windows are rarely wanting either 
in the side-walls or gables. The oriels are sometimes 
single, and sometimes compound, rising one above an- 
other from story to story. Tne doors are deeply recessed, 
with weather-mouldings above them in nigh relief. 
There are often porches to the entrances with small 
gable tops, corresponding with the larger gables of the 



house, and breaking with their deep shadows the mono- 
tony of the flat sides. In tjie larger houses there are 
sometimes turrets, and generally there are stacks ot 




[Carved timber Gable at Ockwella. Berkshire.] 

ornamented chimneys which look like turrets, each 
shaft being usually of a different pattern. The projec- 
tions throughout are bold, and the shadows deep ; and 
the variety of form in the outline is almost infinite, 
displaying great variety of invention and consummate 
skill. Either in town or country the general effect is 
extremely picturesque. In towns, indeed, the streets 
were often narrow, and, from the overhanging of the 
stories, dark ; but the passengers were sheltered from 
sun and shower. In other respects the houses were 
not crowded ; trees and gardens were intermixed, and 
the carved and painted gables, overhanging floors and 
galleries, and projecting windows and porches, must 
have had an effect in the highest degree varied and 
pleasing. In the country, the beautiful accordance of 
this style of building with rural scenery may be seen in 
the groups of cottages at Hadzor village, near Droit- 
wich. 

Mansions and manor-houses of timber architecture 
were built in great numbers throughout England du- 
ring the whole of the sixteenth century. Many have 
been suffered to fall into decay, and more have been 
pulled down to be replaced by modern houses of brick 
and stone, flat, monotonous, and commonplace. But 
many of the old mansions still remain, some of which 
are as large as palaces, and as magnificent as they are 
picturesque. It is delightful to come suddenly upon 
one of them, standing with its gables and projecting 
windows and varied richness of decoration, among the 
trees which surround it. 

Hulme Hall, of which we have given a representa- 
tion, was one of these ancient timber manor-houses. 
It was situated at a short distance from Manchester, 
on the bank of the Irwell. The manor in the time of 
Edward I. belonged to the family of De -Rossindale. 
In the reign of Henry VI. it had passed to the family 
of Prestwick, in which it remained till 1660, when it 
was purchased by Sir Richard Moseley. In 1751 it 
was bought by George Lloyd, Esq., who, in 1764. sold 
it to the Duke of Bndgewater, in whose family it still 
remains. The manor-house had been long in a state 
of decay, and was let out to different tenants. Il has 
been very recently pulled down, our drawing having 
been taken by T. F. Marshall just previous to its de- 
molition. 

Nearly all the old timber-houses which remain be- 
long to the sixteenth century: the style underwent 
considerable change during that period ; in the reign 
of Henry VIII. by Holbein, who introduced several 
continental variations, and in the reign of Elizabeth 
by the introduction of Italian designs and ornaments 
by John of Padua. John Thorp was the most cele- 
brated architect of this period, and the names are 
known of nine or ten others who were eminent. 

Of the larger timber-mansions yet remaining there 



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are several which are well worthy of mention. Ince 
Hall, near Wi^an, is very Urge and lofty, the frame- 
work highly curious, and the general effect magnifi- 
cent. Bramall Hall, two miles from Stockport, is also 
very large. The great hall is thirty-six feet square, 
with a spiral staircase of solid blocks of oak. Formerly 
a long and lofty gallery extended the whole length of 
the front, surmounting the roofs, and terminating at 
each end in a deep gnble. A similar gallery still re- 
mains at Moreton Hall, near Congleton. The Oaks, in 
the village of West Bromwich, near Birmingham, is dis- 
tinguished by the number and variety of its gables, bv its 
central tower and high ornamented chimneys. Meer 
Hall, three miles from Droitwich, has two large end- 
gables, with five smaller gables between them. The 
frame-work of the upper stories is exceedingly curious. 
There are many others of large size and beautiful 
workmanship, and all of them are as rich in carving 
and ornament within, as they are picturesque on the 
exterior, of which alone we have treated in this short 
sketch. 

BARBERS AND SURGEONS. 

[Continued from page 83.] 

Thb profession of the barber had now lost nearly all 
its exchangeable value; it no longer included the 
curing of wounds, the letting of blood, or the drawing 
of teeth, but was reduced to its primary elements of 
shaving and hair-cuttt«g ; and as most of those in the 
middle rank of society had become their own operators 
in the art of shaving, the employment of the mere 
barber was mostly afforded by the working classes, 
which, indeed, is the case at the present time ; and it 
is remarkable that the shops of the penny and halfpenny 
shavers are again distinguished by the elevation of the 
parti-coloured pole, although it is no longer significant 
of the practice in which its prototype was used. 

But an improvement in the taste, a refinement in the 
habits and manners of society in general, created a 
desire and demand for beauty and embellishment in 
all the various useful and fanciful arts, and called into 
existence, among others, a class of superior artists in 
the manufacture of ornamental hair. These persons, 
combining with their own art that of the hair-dresser 
and perfumer, opened splendid shops, in the windows 
of which were exhibited— not the dull, dirty-looking, 
" noseless blocks," surmounted with powdered wigs, 
but waxen busts of more than natural beauty, elegantly 
though partially draped, and adorned with hair redo- 
lent of essences and curls, which, whatever their 
colour, seemed to heighten the complexion into the 
most brilliant hues. These, together with ornamented 
combs, brushes, and bottles of essences, perfumes, cos- 
metics, and other articles of the toilet, presented a 
showy and attractive appearance, and formed a strik- 
ing contrast between " The easy shaving-shop" and 
" The emporium of elegance and fashion." 

While these mutations were taking place among the 
barbers, the profession of the surgeon, freed from its 
encumbrance, was rising into high repute. The super- 
stition of the early ages, and the popular prejudice of 
later times, which prevailed against anatomical mani- 
pulations of the dead body, had been gradually over- 
come. Schools of anatomy were established in France, 
to which the surgeons of this and other countries re- 
torted for the purpose of prosecuting their studies in 
dissection ana improving their knowledge of the 
animal economy. 

In England great improvements were made on the 
science by John Hunter, who was master of the ana- 
tomy of the human body, and ambitious of making his 
pupils as skilful as himself. From his time surgery 
made rapid advances, and the sphere of its utility was 



greatly extended, and the demand for its services in- 
creased, by the improvements and diversity of its in- 
struments, there being now upwards of a hundred 
varieties, more than half of which were unknown a 
century ago. To the variety and mechanical ingenuity 
and perfection of these implements, joined to profes- 
sional dexterity, much of the alleviation of human 
suffering is to be attributed. Thus the arts are always 
tinctured by the spirit of the age, and artists will be 
skilful in proportion as the age is intelligent and re- 
fined. A high state of civilization invariably creates a 
demand for excellence in the various productions both 
of nature and of art, and consequently for the exercise 
of the utmost skill and ingenuity on the part of every 
description of artists. Half a century ago dentists — 
if we except the extracting barbers — were scarcely 
known ; but the desire for personal embellishment 
and comfort on the part of the wealthy, and the equally 
strong desire of obtaining wealth, or, at least, of better- 
ing their condition, on the part of some of the pro- 
fessors of surgery, brought into existence a class of 
practitioners calling themselves surgeon-dentists; and 
the same desire of obtaining personal ease and gratifi- 
cation, by an exchange of money for artistical skill, 
caused many medical professors to devote themselves 
almost entirely to the study of some particular branch 
of medicine or surgery, and hence arose oculists, 
aurists, chiropedists, &c. These subdivisions have 
been the occasion of great improvements in surgery, 
by allowing the attention, the judgment, and the 
manual dexterity of individuals to be directed and 
applied to some particular department of the science. 
Hence so great has been the in.provement in the art 
of the dentist, and so greatly increased the demand for 
its. productions, that its practitioners are now divided 
into two classes — surgeon-dentists and mechanical- 
dentists. 

Another remarkable contrast — the result of the 
separation of the surgeons from the barbers — appears 
in the splendid museum which the talents of John 
Hunter, and the researches, exertions, and liberal ex- 
penditure of the President and Council, have collected 
within the walls of the present College of Surgeons, 
when compared with the museum in the Hall of the 
Barber-surgeons, the account of which, as recorded by 
Maitland, can scarcely be read without a smile. 

The art or feat of barbery, as now practised, con- 
sisting of the simple operation of shaving, is not 
susceptible of that improvement which results from 
the division of labour ; but formerly it included the 
cutting and dressing or trimming the beard (as well 
as the hair), and the various modes in which it was 
worn required considerable skill and different opera- 
tions on the part of the practitioner to suit the taste of 
the times. We learn from Shakspere, in his * Mid- 
summer Night's Dream,* that in his time some wore 
strings in their beards ; and in the humorous descrip- 
tion given by John Taylor, the water-poet, of the beards 
in his time, we learn the variety and fancy of their 
forms, some of which are really curious. In his 
enumeration of what he terms the "strange and 
variable cut of men's beards," in which 

" come take as vain a pride 
At almost iu all other things beside/* 



he informs 

"Some seem as they were rtarched */i/f and fine, 
Like to the bristles of some angry swine ; 
And some to set their love's desire on edge, 
Are cut and prun'd like to a quick-set hedge ; 
Some like a spade, some like a fork, some square, 
Some round, some mnw'd like stubble, some stark bare ; 
Some sharp, stiletto-fashion, dngger-like, 
Tbit may, with whispering, a man's eyes outpike ; 

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Some with a hammer cut, or Roman T, 

Their beards extravagant reform' d mutt be ; 

8ome with the quadrate, tome triangle fashion ; 

Some circular, some oval in translation ; 

Some perpendicular in longitude, 

Some like a thicket for their crassitude : 

That heights, depths, breadths, triform, square, oval, round, 

And rules geometrical in beards are found/' 

Starching the beard and curling the whiskers appear 
to have been very modish about two centuries ago. In 
the • Life of Mrs. Elizabeth Thomas/ entitled * Pylades 
and Corinna,' printed in 1731, we have the following 
account of Mr. Richard Shute, her grandfather, a 
Turkey merchant: "That he was very nice in the 
mode of that age, his valet being $ome hours every 
morning in starching his beard and curling his 
whiskers ; during which time, a gentleman, whom be 
maintained as a companion, always read to him upon 
some useful subject." This custom is also alluded to 
in the following lines of Hudibras, whose mistress, in 
speaking of his beard, says — 

"Though yours be sorely lura'd and torn, 
It does your visage more adorn 
Than if 'twere prun'd, and s/arcVrf, and lander 3 d, 
And cut square by the Russian standard." 

The " Russian standard " is an allusion to the long 
and broad beards worn by the Russian nobility ana 
gentry, till the time of the Czar Peter the Great, who 
compelled them to part with these ornaments, not only 
by laying a heavy tax upon them, but by the harsher 
methods of ordering them to be plucked out by the 
roots or shaved with a blunt razor. (See the < Northern 
Worthies,' 1728.) 

From this slight sketch it will, we think, be ohvjous 
that no art admitting indefinite improvements, and 
capable of exercising the highest attributes pf the 
mind, can be kept in subservience to another pro- 
fession, nor in union with one, like that of the bar- 
ber, that is merely mechanical. Mankind, as increas- 
ing intelligence enables them to judge, prefer, at 
whatever price, the highest excellence in any profes- 
sion that can be attained, knowing that in fact such 
excellence is in reality the cheapest. The numerous 
subdivisions we have noticed are a proof of the efforts 
and labour necessary in each department to ensure 
the highest degree of knowledge and skill ; and even 
the barber, as a class, has elevated himself into the 
adorner, instead of the disfigurer, of the human form. 



Nature the Architect of Society, — Human socicfy is not like a 
piece of mechanism which may be safely taken to pieces, and 
put together by the hands of an ordinary artist. It is the work 
of nature, and not of man ; and has received, from the hands of 
its Author, an organization that cannot be destroyed without 
danger to its existence, and certain properties and powers that 
cannot be altered or suspended by those who may have been 
intrusted with its management. By studying these properties, 
and directing those powers, it may be modified and altered to a 
very considerable extent. But they must be allowed to develop 
themselves by their internal energy, and to familiarise them- 
selves with their new channel of exertion. A child cannot be 
stretched out by engines to the stature of a man, nor a man 
compelled, in a morning, to excel in all the exercises of an 
athlete. Those into whose hands the destinies of a great nation 
are committed, should bestow on its reformation at least as much 
patient observance and as much tender precaution as are dis- 
played by a skilful gardener in his treatment of a sickly plant. 
He pops up those branches that are weak or overloaded, and 
gradually prunes and reduces those that are too luxuriant ; he 
cuts away what is absolutely rotten and distempered ; he stirs 
the earth about the root, and sprinkles it with water, and waits 
for the coming spring: be trains the young branches to the 
right band or to the left ; and leads it, by a gradual and spon- 
taneous progress, to expand or exalt itself, season after season, in 
the direction which he had previously determined j and thus, in 



the course of a few summers, be brings it, without injury or com- 
pulsion, into that form and proportion which could not with 
safety have been imposed upon it in shorter time. The reformer! 
of France applied no such gentle solicitations, and could not 
wait for the effects of any such preparatory measures or volun- 
tary developments. They forcibly broke over its lofty boughs, 
and endeavoured to straighten its crooked joints by violence: 
they tortured it into symmetry in vain, and shed its life-blood 
on the earth, in the middle of its scattered branches. — Lord 
Jeffrey 

Dunlop Que*. — Dunlop cheese is made in the counties of 
Ayr, Renfrew, Lanark, and Galloway, of various sixes, from 
twenty to sixty pounds. After the milk is brought to a certain 
degree of heat (about a hundred degrees of the thermometer upon 
an average, though in summer ninety will be sufficient, and, on 
the contrary, during the winter, a higher degree will be re- 
quisite), it is mixed with the cream which had been skimmed, 
and kept cool. The milk is then poured into a large vessel, 
where the rennet is added tp it, and the whole is closely covered 
up for ten or twelve minutes. If the rennet is jrood it wil] then 
have effected a coagulation of the milk, which is gently stirred ; 
the whey then begins immediately to separate, and is taken off as 
it gathers, until the curd becomes tolerably solid. It is now put 
into a strainer, the cover of which is pressed down with any con- 
venient weight. After it has thus stood for some time, and U 
tolerably dry, it is" returned into the first vessel or dish, where it 
is cut into very small pieces by means of a cheese-knife that is 
furnished with three or four blades, fixed on prongs frum the 
handle, that cut in a horixontal direction. It is thus turned up 
and cut, every ten or fifteen minutes, and also pressed with the 
hand, until all the whey is extracted. The curd is now once 
more cut as small as possible, and salted, care beiug taken to 
mix it minutely with the mass. lastly, it is put into a cbeesit 
or cbeesart, a stout dish with iron hoops, which has a cover that 
goes exactly into it ; a cloth being placed between the curd and 
the vessel. It this state, it is submitted to the action of the 
cheese-press, whence it is occasionally taken and wrapped in dry 
cloths, until it is supposed to have completely parted with the 
whey. It is then laid aside for one or two "days, when it is again 
examined; and, if there is any appearance of whey remaining, 
the pressure and application of cloths are repeated. As soon as 
it is ascertained that the whey is extracted, the cheese is gene- 
rally kept for a few days in the former's kitchen, in order to dry 
it, before it is placed in the store, where a smaller degree of heat 
is admitted. While there, it is turned three or four times a day, 
until it begins to harden on the outside j when it is removed to 
the store, and turned twice a week afterwards. When the 
cheese is cured, various modes are adopted in preparing it for 
sale, which are rather injurious than beueficial ; nothing further 
being requisite, besides turning it, than to rub it occasionally 
with a coarse cloth, especially after harvest, because at mat time 
it has a tendency to breed mites. In some dairies, the cream is 
carefully separated from the milk j while in others, the milk is 
not all allowed to cool, but thickened as taken from the cow ; it 
being thought that " if the milk is allowed to stand until the 
cream separates from it, the cream can never again be com- 
plete! v blended with it, or retained in the curd when set, and 
the cheese will seem to be considerably poorer." We liave 
given this long account; for the Ayresbire dairy-people think 
that there is a great deal of mystery attending all these manipu- 
lations; bnt the only mystery consists in the cheese being 
honestly made of the milk, cream, and all ; in particular, atten- 
tion being paid to the temperature of the milk when the rennet is 
added, and that most accurately ascertained by the dairymaids 
thermometer, the top of the finger; and, finally, in the cheese 
being dried in a cool place, without any painting, or sweating, 
or rubbing with grease ox oil. — Agrxcuihtral Gazette. 



Mental Blindneu. — Talk to a blind man— he knows he wants 
the sense of sight, and willingly makes the proper allowances. 
But there are certain internal senses which a man may want, and 
yet be wholly ignorant that he wants them. It is most unpleasant 
to converse with such persons on subjects of taste, philosophy, ox 
religion. Of course there if no reawninq with them, for they 
do not possess the tacts on which the reasoning must be grounded. 
Nothing is possible but a naked dissent, which implies a sort of 
unsocial contempt ; or, what a man of kind disposition is very- 
likely to fall into, a heartless tacit acquiescence, which borders 
too nearly on duplicity. — Coleridge. 



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[Yin ilarlolameo.] 



ESSAYS ON THE LIVES OF REMARKABLE 

PAINTERS.— No. XXII. 

Fra. Bartolomeo, called also Baccio dslla Porta 

and II Frate : b. 1469; d. 1517. 

Before we enter on the golden age of painting — that 
splendid sera which crowded into a brief quarter of a 
century (between 1505 and 1530) the greatest names 
and most consummate productions of the art — we 
must speak of one more painter justly celebrated. 
Perugino, Francia, of whom we have spoken at length, 
and Fra Bartolomeo, of whom we are now to speak, 
were still living at this period ; but they belonged to a 
previous age, and were informed, as we shall show, by 
a wholly different spirit. They contributed in some 
degree to the perfection of their great contemporaries 
and successors, but they owed the sentiment which 
inspired their own works to influences quite distinct. 
The last of these elder painters of the first Italian 
school was Fra Bartolomeo. 

He was born in the little town of Savignano, in the 
territory of Prato, near Florence. Of his family little 
is known, and of his younger years nothing, but that, 
having shown a disposition to the art of design, he was 
placed under the tuition of Cosimo Roselli, a very good 
Florentine painter; and that while receiving his in- 
structions he resided with some relations who dwelt 
near one of the gates of the city (La Porta San Piero). 
Hence for the first thirty years of his life he was 
known among his companions by the name of Baccio 
della Porta ; Baccio being the Tuscan diminutive of 
Bartolomeo. While studying in the atelier of Cosimo 
Roselli, Baccio formed a friendship with Mariotto Al- 
bertinelli, a young painjter about his own age. It was 
on both sides an attachment almost fraternal. They 
painted together, sometimes on the same picture, and 
in style and sentiment were so similar that it has be- 
come difficult to distinguish their works. Baccio was, 
however, more particularly distinguished by his feeling 
for softness and harmony of colour, and the tender and 
devout expression of his religious pictures. From his 
earliest years be appears io nave been a religious en- 
thusiast, and this turn of mind not only characterised 
all the productions of his pencil, but involved him in 
a singular manner with some of the most remarkable 
events and characters of his time. 

Lorenzo de' Medici, called Lorenzo the Magnificent, 
was then master of the liberties of Florence. The re- 
vival of classical learning, the study of the antique 
sculptures (diffused, as we have related, by the school 



of Padua, and rendered still more a fashion by the 
influence and popularity of Andrea Mantegna, already 
old, and Michel Angelo, then a young man), was ra- 
pidly corrupting the simple and pious taste which had 
hitherto prevailed in art, even while imparting to it a 
more universal direction, and a finer feeling for beauty 
and sublimity in the abstract. At the same time, and 
encouraged for their own purposes by the Medici 
family, there prevailed with this pagan taste in litera- 
ture and art a general laxity of morals, a licence of 
conduct, and a disregard of all sacred things, such as 
had never, even in the darkest ages of barbarism, been 
known in Italy. The papal chair was during that pe- 
riod filled by two popes, the perfidious and cruel 
Sixtus IV., and the yet more detestable Alexander VI. 
(the infamous Borgia). Florence, meantime, under 
the sway of Lorenzo and his sons, became one of the 
most magnificent, but also one of the most dissolute of 
cities. 

The natural taste and character of Bartolomeo 
placed him far from this luxurious and licentious 
court; but he had acquired great reputation by the 
exquisite beauty and tenderness of his Madonnas, and 
he was employed by the Dominicans of the convent of 
St. Mark to paint a fresco in their church, represent- 
ing the Last Judgment At this time Savonarola, an 
eloquent friar in the convent, was preaching against 
the disorders of the times, the luxury of the nobles, 
the usurpation of the Medici, and the vices of the 
popes, with a fearless fervour and eloquence which 
nis hearers and himself mistook for direct inspiration 
from heaven. The influence of this extraordinary 
man increased daily ; and among his most devoted 
admirers and disciples was Bartolomeo. In a fit of 
perplexity and remorse, caused by an eloquent sermon 
of Savonarola, he joined with many others in making 
a sacrifice of all the books and pictures which related 
to heathen poetry and art on which they could lay 
their hands: into this funeral pyre, which was kindled 
in sight of-the people in one ot the principal streets of 
Florence, Bartolomeo flung all those of his designs, 
drawings, and studies which represented either pro- 
fane subjects or the human figure undraped, and 
he almost wholly abandoned the practice of his art 
for the society of his friend and spiritual pastor. 
But the talents, the enthusiasm, the popularity of 
Savonarola had marked him for destruction. He was 
excommunicated by the pope for heresy, denounced 
by the Medici, and at length forsaken by the fickle 
people who had followed, obeyed, almost adored him 



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as a saint. Barlolomeo happened to be lodged in the 
convent of St. Mark when it was attacked by the 
rabble and a party of nobles. The partisans of Savo- 
narola were massacred, and Savonarola himself carried 
off to torture and to death. Our pious and excellent 
painter was not remarkable for courage. Terrified by 
the tumult and horrors around him, he hid himself, 
vowing, if he escaped the danger, to dedicate himself to 
a religious life. Within a few weeks the unhappy 
Savonarola, after suffering the torture, was publicly 
burned in the Grand Piazza of Florence, and Bar- 
tolomeo, struck with horror at the fate of bis friend — 
a horror which seemed to paralyse all his faculties 
— took the vows and became a Dominican friar, 
leaving to his friend Albertinelli the task of com- 
pleting those of his frescoes and pictures which were 
left unfinished. 

He passed four years of his life without touching a 
pencil, in the austere seclusion of his convent. At 
the end of this period the entreaties and commands 
of his Superior induced Bartolomeo to resume the 
practice of his art, and from this time he is known 
as Fra Bartolomeo di San Marco, and by many writers 
he is styled simply 11 Frate {the Friar) ; in Italy he is 
scarcely known by any other designation. 

Timid by nature, and tormented by religious 
scruples, he at first returned to his easel with languor 
and reluctance ; but an incident occurred which re- 
awakened all his genius and enthusiasm. Young 
Raphael, then in his twenty-first year, and already 
celebrated, arrived in Florence. He visited the Frate 
in his cell, and between these kindred spirits a friend- 
ship ensued which ended only with death, and to which 
we partly owe the finest works of both. Raphael, 
who was a perfect master of perspective, instructed 
his friend in the more complicated rules of the science, 
and Fra Bartolomeo in return initiated Raphael into 
some of his methods of colouring. 

It was not, however, in the merely mechanical pro- 
cesses of art that these two great painters owed most to 
each other. It is evident, on examining his works, 
that Fra Bartolomeo's greatest improvement dates from 
his acquaintance with Raphael ; that his pictures from 
this time display more energy of expression,— a more 
intellectual grace, while Raphael imitated his friend in 
the softer blending of his colours, and learned from 
him the art of arranging draperies in an ampler and 
nobler style thau he had hitherto practised ; in fact, he 
had just at this time caught the sentiment and manner 
of Bartolomeo so completely, that the only great work 
he executed at Florence (the Madonna del Baldachino 
in the Palazzo Pitti) might be at the first glance mis- 
taken for a composition of the Frate. Richardson, an 
excellent writer and first-rate authority, observes, that 
44 at this time Fra Bartolomeo seems to have been the 
greater man, and might have been the Raphael, had 
not Fortune been determined in favour of t be "other." 
It is not, however, Fortune alone which determines 
these things ; and of Raphael we might say, as Con- 
stance said of her son, that "at his birth, Nature and 
Fortune joined to make him great :'' but this is digress- 
ing, and we shall return to the personal history of the 
Frate in our next Number. 

[To be continued.] 



EXPENSE OF FUNERALS. 

Thb circumstances which usually lead to the long re- 
tention of the dead before burial, according to Mr. 
Chad wick's Report, arise amongst the poor chiefly 
from the expense of funerals ; in some instances from 
a natural reluctance to part with the remains of the 
deceased ; and occasionally from a feeling of apprehen- 



sion against premature interment. When a respect- 
able artizan dies, his funeral is generally attended by 
neighbours, and fellow- workmen as well as relations, 
the number of mourners being usually from five to eight 
couple ; and as the convenience of tnese parties must 
be consulted, it consequently happens, that if the death 
takes place on a Wednesday, the funeral is deferred to 
the Sunday-week following. But, undoubtedly, the 
strongest cause of delay is the difficulty of raising 
money for the expenses of interment, when, as is most 
frequently the case, the resources of the family have 
been exhausted by the cessation of wages and the ex- 
penses of illness. This difficulty is so great with the 
very poor, that cases have occurred in the metropolis 
of the bodies of children being found, and on the 
inquest it has been proved that the deaths were natu- 
ral, but that the bodies had been abandoned rather 
than the friends of the deceased would apply for paro- 
chial aid. 

A very interesting portion of Mr. Chadwick's Report 
is that which relates to the Burial Societies established 
by the working classes, for which subscriptions are 
readily obtained, when they cannot be induced to sub- 
scribe either for their own relief in sickness, or for 
the education of their children, or for any other object. 
In the town of Preston there are six large societies, in 
which nearly thirty thousand men, women, and children 
arc enrolled ; and the principal club comprehends 
fifteen thousand one hundred and sixty-four members, 
and expends above 1000/. a year, raised in weekly con- 
tributions, from a half-penny to a penny and three 
half-pence and twopence per week. In London there 
are about one hundred of these Burial Clubs, com- 
prising from one hundred to eight hundred members 
each. 

In 'most cases, the concocters of these schemes 
are an undertaker and a publican. They are conducted 
on the most erroneous principles : members of different 
ages contribute the same sum ; and the society is often 
dissolved by the younger members (if they have a 
majority) snaring the stock, when they find that the 
rapid deaths of more aged persons threaten to lead to 
a similar termination. The meetings of these societies 
are held at public-houses, and lead to habits of drinking. 
It is calculated that the business of the Burial Societies 
at Walsall is not transacted without an expenditure of 
1200/.a year in "drink." 

But the evil does not stop here; for it is only 
a short time since some cases were brought to 
light in courts of justice, in which the deaths of the 
children were traced to the parents, the inducement to 
the commission of the horrible and unnatural crime 
bcin£ the readiness with which the allowances were 
obtained from burial clubs, in several of which the 
children had been entered. In one case a man had 
insured such allowances in nineteen different clubs. 
Mr. Chad wick remarks, that in life insurances the 
legislature has endeavoured to arrest the dangerous 
tendency of insuring beyond the interest; and he 
suggests that, in the case of burial societies, a short 
provision might be made prohibiting payments beyond 
the actual cost of interment, and directing the return 
of the subscriptions where they have been given to 
more than one club. This would, however, be directly 
at variance with the interest of the undertaker, the 
master-spirit in these associations, and who, on the 
death of a mechanic, endeavours, in the first instance, 
to ascertain of how many societies the deceased was a 
member, and then arranges the funeral accordingly; so 
that instead of the family of the deceased being bene- 
fited by his foresight, his savings are expended by the 
undertaker for his own profit; and the most vulgar 
feelings are gratified by all the costly and senseless 
paraphernalia of a •• beautiful " funeral, as persons 



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oven in the class above them are in the habit of term- 
ing these tasteless exhibitions. 

The lowest average price of funerals amongst the 
working classes is about 4/. for adults, including a good 
strong elm coffin, bearers to carry the corpse to the 
grave, pall, and " fittings" for mourners. For children 
the average cost is 30*. ; but these charges do not in- 
clude ground and burial fees. For a tradesman of the 
lowest class, a class in a condition not much beyond 
that of a mechanic, the expense varies from 10/. to 12/. ; 
and for a child would be about 5/. Amongst the middle 
classes an ordinary funeral, burial fees included, varies 
from 50/. to 70/. In providing on these occasions 
•• what is customary," the undertakers have methodized 
a system, from which it is difficult to depart, although 
in their hands the solemnity is conducted with most 
egregious violations of common sense, of which they 
themselves are not aware, nor are the public ; but the 
following question, addressed to an intelligent under- 
taker, fully brings out the absurdity of the custom 
which they have succeeded in establishing : — " Are you 
aware," it was asked, *' that the array of funerals com- 
monly made by undertakers is strictly the heraldic 
array of a baronial funeral, the two men who stand at 
the door being supposed to be the two porters of the 
castle, with their staves, in black ; the man who heads 
the procession, wearing a scarf, being a representative 
of a herald-at-arms : the man who carries a plume of 
feathers on his head being an esquire, who bears the 
shield and casque with its plume of feathers; the pall- 
bearers, with batons, being representatives of knights- 
corn panions-at-arms; the men walking with wands 
being supposed to represent gentlemen-ushers, witli 
their wands?" To this question the answer of course 
was, " No, I am not aware of it" It is these non- 
essential parts of the ceremony which render funeral 
expenses so heavy, and which, amongst the middle 
classes, frequently lead to the impoverishment of the 
survivors. The cost of the mutes (" the two porters of 
the castle") varies from 18*. to 30*. each ; and when 
they are attired in silk scarfs or " fittings," including 
hat-bands and gloves, the sum of five guineas is 
charged ; and half this sum for the person who walks 
with a scarf. The charge for the featners home on the 
head before the hearse, and the M fittings" of the man 
who carries them, is about three guineas and a half ; 
and for each of the men who bear batons about a 
guinea ; and each man bearing a wand about the same 
sum. There are, besides, charges for "velvets" at- 
tached to the hearse, including feathers, and feathers 
to the horses, the cost of which varies from ten to fifteen 
guineas; and from one to four guineas is charged for 
the pall. A silk scarf of three yards and a half, and a 
silk hat-band and black kid gloves, are in many in- 
stances given to the clergyman who performs the 
funeral service ; the same to the clerk ; and in order 
to increase his gains, the undertaker bestows a perqui- 
site of the Bame nature on the sexton ; though it is 
usual to compound the matter by giving to clergy- 
man, clerk, and sexton money instead. The number 
of men employed at a " respectable" funeral is about 
twenty; for if the coffin be a leaden one, it requires 
about eight men to .bear it. In the case of funerals of 
persons of * 4 moderate respectability," the number of 
attendants would be about fourteen. The expense in 
the former case would be about 100/., and in the latter 
about GO/. About 50/. would be a low average for the 
ordinary expense of tradesmen's funerals; and of the 
children ot this class, below the age of ten, about 14/. 
Of persons of the condition of a gentleman, 150/. would 
be a low average ; and for a child of this class about 
30/. The funeral expenses of persons of rank and title 
vary from 500/. to 1500/., but a large part of this cost 
is incurred in the removal of the body to the family 



vault, in a distant part of the country, by a long caval- 
cade moving by very slow stages ; and here the rail- 
ways have diminished the expense, in some cases, to 
the extent of 500/. Out of 5/. expended for the common 
funeral of an adult artizan in London, about 15*. will 
be for the burial dues; and of this 15*. the clergyman 
will receive about 3*. 

To persons of the condition of the widows of officers 
in the arnnr or navy, or of the legal profession, or of 
persons of the rank of gentry who have but limited 
incomes, the expenses of funerals often subject them 
to severe privations for the rest of their lives. These 
expenses are often incurred equally against the 
wishes of the deceased and of the survivors, and 
originate in the circumstance that the funeral arrange- 
ments and the determination of what is " proper," and 
what customs shall be maintained, fall to those who 
have a direct interest in a profuse expenditure. One 
case is mentioned of a clergyman's widow who was lt-ft 
in narrow circumstances, and conceiving it her duty to 
have a respectable funeral, she gave general orders to 
that effect ; but in the vocabulary of the undertaker 
respectability means expensiveness, and the expenses 
of her husband's funeral cost the widow 110/. A case 
is mentioned (in the circular of a respectable under- 
taker) of a widow who stated that her husband's 
funeral cost upwards of 100/. (all the money she pos- 
sessed), and on being asked how she could incur such 
an expense, her reply was, that she ordered the under- 
taker to provide what was respectable, and to avoid 
expense. An executor who had ordered a coffin and 
service of the " most simple description," conformably 
to the intentions of the deceased, expecting the coffin 
to cost not more than 5/., having, under peculiar cir- 
cumstances, occasion to call for the bill previously to 
the interment, found, to his surprise, that instead of 
5/., the charge for the coffin amounted to nearly 20/. 
*' What," he says, " could be done ? we could not turn 
the body out of the coffin : I would have paid double 
rather than have disturbed the peace of the house on 
that occasion." The circumstances attending a death 
encourage extortionate charges, and are no less favour- 
able to complete impunity; and another reason for the 
success of the system of expensive funerals arises from 
their being so frequently paid out of trust* funds of the 
higher and middle classes. It is high time that our 
funeral customs were subjected to a strict scrutiny, 
and efforts made by the intelligent portion of the 
public to get rid of the superfluous sort of mockery 
which is imposed upon them, under the plea of its 
being "customary," by a class whose taste it seems 
absurd in the last degree to follow. 

Mr. Chadwick estimates the total expenses of funerals 
in England and Wales at 4,871,493/ annually, and this 
sum is probably under the real amount. The average 
cost of funerals of persons of every rank in London is 
15/., and the total sum annually expended is above 
626,000/. Still more valuable are the inferences 
he draws in connection with the inerjuality in the 
number of deaths in different districts. Thus amongst 
the poorer classes, living in wretched habitations, as 
those comprised in Bethnal Green and Whitechapel, 
there is one burial to every 31 inhabitants, whilst in 
the contiguous district of Hackney there is only ono 
burial to every 56 of the inhabitants yearly. Had the 
annual mortality amongst the population in the high, 
open, and naturally-drained district of Hackney been 
the same proportionate amount of mortality as that in 
the contiguous, but low, ill-drained, ill-cleansed, and 
ill-ventilated district of Bethnal-Green and White- 
chapel, instead of 759 deaths per annum, Hackney 
would have upwards of 1138 deaths, and an expense of 
5448/. more for funerals during the year. If the same 
rate of mortality prevailed in the county of Hereford 



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as in Liverpool, there would be 1488 more deaths 
annually, and an additional expenditure of 21,390/. 
per annum in burials. Again, the excess of deaths in 
the metropolis above the healthy standard of Islington 
or Herefordshire, of one in 55, is 11,266, and the 
expense of burial of this excessive number is 168,990/. 
per annum. Without taking into account the expenses 
of the corresponding excess of sickness, but reckoning 
only the excess of 168,990/. spent on funerals, we find 
that this sum raised annually would in thirty years 
liquidate the principal and interest, at 5 per cent., of a 
loan of 2,856,168/., towards house-draining and the 
structural improvements and arrangements by which 
the excess might be prevented. To the charge of the 
excessive deaths must be added the charge of the births 
which take place to make up the ravages of mortality 
in the most depressed districts. The excess of births 
from this cause in London is estimated by Mr. Chadwick 
at 8000 a year. A sum of 50,000/. a year would be 
saved to the population of Liverpool (at the rate of 
expenses for funerals in London) were the burials in 
that town reduced to the same proportion as in the 
parish Of Hackney ; and such a sum would, in thirty 
years, pay off the interest and principal on a loan of 
845,065/. sterling for structural arrangements. Mr. 
Chad wick, in effect, urges plans which would lead to 
a diminution in many instances of one-third of the 
deaths, and consequently of one-third in the number 
of burials : and then he snows that without diminishing 
in the slightest degree the solemnity of sepulture, the 
expense of the other two-thirds of the present average 
number of funerals could be reduced probably fifty per 
cent., the saving from both sources being greater than 
would remedy the annual share of the expense of the 
chief structural sanitary arrangements, supposing every 
house in an unhealthy district to be deficient. There 
would be *• the amount saved by the reduction of the 
funeral expenditure, giving the health and longevity, 
and all the moral and social savings, plus the mere 
pecuniary saving; these remoter savings being in 
themselves unquestionably far greater than can be 
represented by the pecuniary items directly econo- 
mised." 

Mr. Chad wick's analysis of the class of persons in 
the metropolis engaged in the performance of services 
connected with the burial of the dead shows that, not- 
withstanding the immense aggregate expenditure, the 
business is not in a sound state. The number of 
persons whose sole business is that of undertakers, 
whose names are enumerated in the * Post-Office 
Directory,' is 275 ; but it appears that the real service 
is performed chiefly by about sixty furnishing under- 
takers, who comnetc with each other in furnishing the 
supplies at a moderate rate to a multitude of interior 
tradesmen, probably exceeding one thousand, amongst 
whom the excessive profits arising from extortionate 
charges are thus irregularly distributed. Many of the 
journeymen who form the superfluous retinue of at- 
tendants at a "respectable" funeral, place the insignia 
of undertakers in their window for the sake of lite 
profits of one or two funerals a year. Some of the 
most respectable undertakers have eight or ten funerals 
a day, and some have two or three : but there are eight 
or nine undertakers waiting for the chance of every 
private funeral; and as the majority have a much 
smaller number than the minority, they are the more 
severely driven to charge their expenses on a small 
number of funerals. One man who called himself an 
undertaker, by reason of his being employed as " bearer*' 
at funerals, and who, from accident or management, 
contrived to get into his hands the business of two 
or three funerals in a year, has been heard to say 
that he had got as much profit out of the funeral of an 
artizan as would provide him with a new suit of clothes. 



The question of how the evils connected with the 

£ resent system of interments are to be diminished, ire 
lust still reserve for another number. 



Shepherdi in New South JValen.— The duties of a shepherd hi 
New South Wales are exceedingly rimple. A flock usually 
consists of from four hundred to five hundred ewes, or from six 
hundred to a thousand dry sheep ; three flocss being folded at 
otie station. The shepherd is required to take his sheep from the 
fold in the morning, not later than an hour after sunrise, to keep 
sight of them on the pastures throughout the day, and to bring 
them back at sunset to the fold. They are then counted over 
and left in charge of the night watchman, whose duty it is to 
take care of the flocks in the folds until the morning, when each 
flock is again counted and delivered over to the shepherd. In 
the lambing season, on well-managed establishments, the ewes 
about to lamb are withdrawn from the flock and kept separate, 
under the care either of the watchman or of some other person 
appointed for the purpose, for a few days, until the lambs are 
strong enough to travel With the flock. At shearing time the 
flocks are brought in rotation to the home station to be washed 
and shorn. It is then the shepherd s business (unless he be also 
a shearer) to follow his sheep and take care that they are kept as 
free as possible from any kind of dirt, until the fleece is in a fit 
state to shear, which, in general, is the case about the third or 
fourth day after the washing. From this account of the ordinary 
duty of a shepherd in New South Wales, it will be seen that 
almost any one is capable of taking charge of a flock. Sheep 
are subject to very few diseases ; and with the treatment of these 
either the master or the overseer will be conversant. In such 
cases the shepherd has only to follow diligently the directions he 
may receive from those under whose superintendence he is placed, 
and if possessed of common intelligence he will soon be capable 
of acting for himself. In fact a, weaver or button-maker, alter a 
few mouths' experience, will generally prove a better shepherd 
in New South Wales than the man who, having been brought 
up as a shepherd in England, may have acquired habits and 
prejudices exceedingly difficult to shake off, however unsuitable 
to the new position in which he is placed. In proof of this, it 
may be noticed that some of the best superintendents of sheep in 
the colony are natives of London, Manchester* or Birmingham, 
and that few professed English or Scotch shepherds are entrusted 
with the care even of a single flock. The duty of a watchman 
is as easy as that of a shepherd ; he sleeps by the fold in a watch- 
box, trusting to his dogs to awaken him in case of the approach 
of a native dog, or any other cause of alarm ; he counts them in 
and out, and shifts the hurdles. Nor is the life of a shepherd 
at all irksome to those who have been accustomed to sedentary 
occupations. On the contrary, such persons have, in various 
instances, become strongly attached to it, which will not seem 
surprising when it is considered that it is a life of very great ease 
and freedom from core. Indeed, it is commonly remarked of 
the shepherds that they are more healthy and seem much more 
cheerful and contented than any other class of farm servants. 
The wages of a shepherd or watchman have been of late about 
30/. a year, on an average, with from seven to ten pouud* of 
meat, ten pounds of flour, two ounces of tea, and one pound of 
sugar, per week ; or in the place of tea and .sugar, milk. 20/. 
a year is, however, as much as, at the present low price of wool, 
can be given, with profit to the sheep-owner : and out of this sura 
a man of frugal habits may lay by a considerable sum yearly, 
more particularly should he learn to shear, by which he may 
put a few pounds into his pocket every summer, in addition to 
his wages ; and still more so, should he, by care and good ma- 
nagement, get charge of a breeding flock, and obtain a prise for 
rearing a large number of lambs. Again, if he be the rather of 
a family, with two or three sous, from twelve to fifteen or seven* 
teen years old, he may, after a short time, take charge of a sta- 
tion ; the sons going out with the flocks, while he acts as watch* 
man, in which capacity he will have many hours unoccupied 
during the day, which may be employed in improving his cot- 
tage and making his home comfortable. He may also cultivate 
a garden, or even a small field of corn, whilst his wife would 
find full employment in domestic matters, the rearing of poultry, 
&c. : and should their l>e daughters of sufficient age, they will 
he sure to obtain good situations as servants in respectable fami- 
lies. — Hon. U. Dun dai Mtnray* Summer at Pott Philip. 



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[Gionp from Ihe Picture of the Madonna ct Lucca.] 



ESSAYS ON THE LIVES OF REMARKABLE 

PAINTERS.— No. XXIII. 

Fra Bartolomeo (concluded^ from page 94). 

About the year 1513, Bartolomeo obtained leave of 
the Superior of his convent to visit Rome. He had 
heard so much of the grand works on which Raphael 
and Michael Angelo were employed by Leo X., that 
he could no longer repress the wish to behold and 
judge with his own eyes these wonderful produc- 
tions. He was also engaged to paint in the church 
of St. Sylvester on Monte Cavallo: but the air of 
Rome did not agree with him. He indeed renewed 
his friendship with Raphael, and they spent many hours 
and days in each other's society ; but Raphael had by 
this time so far outrun him in every kind of excellence, 
and what he saw around him in the Vatican and in the 
Sistine Chapel so far surpassed his previous conceptions, 
that admiration and astonishment seemed to swallow 
up the feeling of emulation. There was no envy in his 
gentle and pious mind, but he could not paint, he could 
not apply himself, a cloud fell upon his spirits, which 
was attributed partly to indisposition ; and he returned 
to Florence, leaving at Rome only two unfinished pic- 
tures, figures of St. Peter and St. Paul, which Raphael 
undertook to finish for him, and, in the midst of his 
own great and multifarious works, found time to com- 
plete. It is said that while Raphael was painting on 
the head of St. Peter, two of his friends, who were car- 
dinals, and not remarkable for the sanctity of their 
lives, stood conversing with him, and thought either to 
compliment him, or perhaps rouse him to contradiction, 
l»y criticising the work ot Bartolomeo : one of them 
observed that the colouring was much too red. To 



which Raphael replied significantly, "May it please 
your Eminences, the holy apostle here represented is 
blushing in heaven, as he certainly would do were he 
now present, to behold the church he founded on earth 
governed by such as you 1" 

On returning to Florence, Fra Bartolomeo resumed 
his pencil, and showed that his journey to Rome had 
not Wen in vain. His finest works, the St. Mark, now 
in the Pitti Palace, and the famous Madonna di Miseri- 
cordia at Lucca, were executed after his return. 
Every picture subsequently painted displayed in- 
creasing vigour, and he was still in the full possession 
of his powers when be was seized with a fever and 
dysentery, caused, it is said, by eating too many figs, and 
died in his convent, October 8, 1517, being then in his 
forty- eighth year. 

The personal character of Fra Bartolomeo is im- 
pressed on all his works. He was deficient, as we have 
seen, in physical courage and energy ; but, in his dis- 
position, enthusiastic, devout, and affectionate. Tender- 
ness and a soft regular beauty characterize his female 
heads ; his saints have a mild and serious dignity. He 
is very seldom grand or sublime in conception, or ener- 
getic in movement and expression ; the pervading senti 
ment in all his best pictures is holiness. He particularly 
excelled in the figures of boy-angels, which he introduced 
into most of his groups, sometimes playing on musical 
instruments, seated at the feet of the Virgin, or bearing 
a canopy over her head, but, however employed, 
always full of infantine grace and candour. He is 
also famed for the rich architecture he introduced into 
his pictures, and for the grand and flowing style of his 
draperies. It was his opinion that every object should 
be painted, if possible, from nature ; and for the better 



no. 767. 



Vol. XIII.-O 

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[March 16, 



study and arrangemont of Ihe drapery, he invented 
those wooden figures with joints (called lay-figures) 
which are now to be found in the studio of every 
painter, and which have been of incalculable service 
in art. 

His pictures are not commonly met with. Lucca, 
Florence, and Vienna possess the three finest. 

The first of these, at Lucca, is perhaps the most im- 
portant of all his works. It is called the Madonna 
della Misericordia, and represents the Virgin, a grand 
and beautiful figure, standing with outstretched arms, 
pleading for mercy for mankind; around her are 
groups of suppliants, who look up to her as she looks 
up to heaven, where, throned in judgment, is seen her 
divine Son. Wilkie, in one of his letters from Italy 
(1827), dwells upon the beauty of this noble picture, 
and says that it combines the merits of Raphael and 
Titian— of Rembrandt and Rubens! ••Here," he 
says, " a monk in the retirement of his cloister, shut 
out from the taunts and the criticism of the world, 
seems to have anticipated in his early time all that his 
art could arrive at in its most advanced maturity ; and 
this he has been able to do without the usual blandish- 
ments of the more recent periods, and with all the 
higher qualities peculiar to the age in which he 
lived."* 

This is very high praise, particularly from such a 
man as Wilkie. The mere outline engraving in Ro- 
sini's ' Storia della Pittura' will show the beauty of the 
composition ; and the testimony of Wilkie with regard 
to the magical colouring is sufficient. 

The St. Mark in the Pitti Palace is a single figure, 
seated, and holding his Gospel in his hand. It is so 
remarkable for its grandeur and simplicity, as to have 
been frequently compared with the remains of Grecian 
art. For this picture a grand-duke of Tuscany (Fer- 
dinand II.) paid 1200/., nearly two hundred years ago, 
which, according to the present value of money, would 
be equal to about 3000/. 

In the Imperial Gallery at Vienna is the Presenta- 
tion in the Temple, a picture of wonderful dignity and 
beauty, and well known by the fine engravings which 
exist of it. The figures are rather less than life. 

In the Louvre at Paris are two very fine pictures : 
a Madonna enthroned, with several figures, life-size, 
which was painted as an altar-piece for his own con- 
vent of St. Mark, and afterwards sent as a present to 
Francis I. ; the other an Annunciation. 

In the Grosvenor Gallery there is a divine little pic- 
ture, in which the Infant Christ is represented reclin- 
ing on the lap of the Virgin, and holding the cross 
which the young St. John, stretching forth his arms, 
appears anxious to take from him. 

The Berlin gallery contains only one of his pictures; 
the Dresden gallery not one. His works are best 
studied in his native city of Florence, to which they 
are chiefly confined. 

Fra Bartolomeo had several scholars, none of whom 
were distinguished except a nun of the monastery of 
St. Catherine, known as Suor Plautilla, who very suc- 
cessfully imitated his style, and has left some beautiful 
pictures. 

THE TRIAL OF THE PIX. 

Many of our readers may within the last few weeks 
have seen a notice in the public journals respecting 
the trial of the pix t a ceremony which is conducted 
under the authority of the Lord Chancellor and the 
Chancellor of the Exchequer, in relation to the coin- 
age. As this ceremony takes place from time to 
time, and is of rather a curious character, we will 
briefly describe its origin and nature. 

• • Life of Sir David Wilkie,' vol. ii., \\ 451. 



The pix is a box, chest, or casket, in which a number 
of new coins are deposited ; and the trial of the pix is 
an examination into the weight and quality of the 
coins so deposited, with a view to the determination 
whether or not the coined money issued to the public 
is fair and equitable. The reason why this examina- 
tion is made is, because the coinage is not actually 
made by the government, but by the authorities of the 
Mint, under a peculiar arrangement whereby the 
workmen are paid rather by what is termed •piece- 
work,' than by the week or year ; and the work so 
produced has to be tested by the government to see 
that it corresponds with the recognised standard. It 
is true that the examination is now in effect little more 
than mere form ; but still the principle involved is an 
important one, and might be made more stringent if 
necessary. 

The constitution of the Mint is such that each officer 
has a certain degree of responsibility from which he 
cannot be discharged ; and on the occasion of a new 
coinage, this responsibility extends through an extra- 
ordinary number of persons, each of whom must have 
a kind of acknowledgment or quittance, stating that 
his portion of the duty has been properly rendered. 
The Master of the Mint, for instance, is bound to coin 
into sterling money the gold and silver bullion which 
shall be sent to him for that purpose under certain 
regulations; and rigorous precautions are taken to see 
that the coined money corresponds with the bullion 
from which it is coined ; but as no human skill could 
ensure perfect accuracy in size and weight among 
numerous coins, the Master is allowed a * remedy' or 
margin. Under the operation* of this 'remedy of the 
Mint,' if the coins deviate from correctness only to a 
certain prescribed extent, the Master is considered to 
have performed his part, and receives his * quietus * or 
quittance; but if this remedy or amount of error is 
exceeded, he must recoin the pieces at his own cost. 
The * remedy* for gold coins has varied from one- 
third to one-sixteenth of a carat; that is, standard gold 
is supposed to be divided into twenty-four equal parts 
called carats, of which twenty-two must be pure gold 
and the rest alloy; and if the standard deviates from 
this more than (at present) one-sixteenth of a carat of 
pure gold in one pound weight troy of coins, the 
M aster has exceeded his remedy. For silver coins 
the remedy is one pennyweight (either in fineness or 
in weight) in one pound weight. In proportion as 
the work becomes more accurate, the remedy is les- 
sened, else it might be made a source of profit to the 
Mint at the expense of the country. 

Without entering further upon the arrangements of 
the Mint, we will explain how the 'trial of the pix' 
is brought to bear upon the ' remedy ' allowed to the 
Master of the Mint. 

The first undoubted instance known of this cere- 
mony in England occurred in the 32nd of Henry III., 
when the mayor and citizens of London were com- 
manded to choose twelve discreet citizens and twelve 
skilful members of the Goldsmiths 1 Company. These 
twenty-four persons were to go before the Barons of 
the Exchequer, and having been sworn, were to ex- 
amine the money of the realm, and see that it was 
made of good silver according to law ; but it does not 
appear that this, like the • trial of the pix,' was to 
exonerate the Master of the Mint, or to make him 
forfeit for any error, because old as well as new coins 
were examined. It seems rather to have been a 
general examination, with a view of ascertaining the 
actual condition of the coinage at a particular period. 
In the 18th of Edward III., however, the trial took 
place in a more exact manner, and for a purpose evi- 
dently analogous to that observable in modern times. 
The order of proceedings is laid down with curious 



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minuteness : — u So soon as Ihc moneys are coyned and 
compleatc, the warden to receave yt as the Master 
receaveth it from the monyers" (the persons who 
conduct the mechanical operation of coining in the 
Mint are and have long been termed moneyers), "and 
putt yt in one chest shut with two keys. And before 
the moneys bee payd to the marchant, at the request of 
the said master, the warden shall make tryall of yt, 
and if yt shall not bee so good as yt is undertaken, yt 
thai bee retorned to the said Master to bee remolten" 
(coins were at that time made by casting, not, as at 
present, by stamping) " at his owne proper costs, and 
being afterwarde approved for good, the w T arden to 
take out of every C pound w rlt ij fc starlinge, and of 
every five pound w«»* ot gold one peece, which peece shall 
bee kepte in one chest with two keys, and sealed with 
two seales, th' one to remayne with the kings deputie, 
and the other with the master. The said box to be 
opened once every three months before the councell 
of the kinge, the warden, and the master, and the said 
moneys to bee assaid before them, and being found 
good and convenable, the said master to have letters 
patterns for his discharge ; and being found otberwyse, 
the master to pay the kinge or his deputye that which 
shall appertevne, and all the doinges and knowledge 
meats shal bee kepte in the same chest. And the 
foresaid master shall never bee held nor challenged by 
any body, nor by the authority of the kinge, alwayes 
exeepte th' assays of the money shall bee found de- 
fective." 

In the subsequent reigns assays or trials were made 
at irregular periods. In the 8th of Edward IV., it 
was ordered that the warden, the changer, the assaycr, 
and the comptroller of the Mint should at all times 
oversee the gold and silver coinage; and that, after 
the coinage had been examined and found good, and 
before it was delivered for circulation, tbese officers 
should take from every ten pounds weight of gold the 
value of a noble or more, and of every hundred pounds 
weight of silver two shillings or more, for the assays at 
Westminster, which were to be held every tnree 
months. Sir Richard Martyn, Warden of the Mint in 
the reign of Quecu Elizabeth, drew up an account of 
the regulations accompanying every new coinage ; in 
which, after speaking of the coining, he goes on to 
state : — •• Before enie deliverance be maide of the 
faolle somtne, a portion of it, which remaneth to the 
quene, shal bee put in a boxe, whereof the assaye shal 
bee maede from time to time before such of the coun- 
cell as the quene shall appoyntte, viz. of curie vij. lb. 
weight of gold one peace at the lesst of euerie seuerall 
coyne of gold, and after that ratte of all the monies of 
gold: and of euerie journie of silver conteyning xxx. 
lb. wt. tooe peaces at the least of euerie seuerall coyne 
of silver, and so after that ratte of all the silver. And 
when the seid portions of gold and silver be taken and 
put into a boxe for to make the assaies as aforoseide, 
they shal bee ensealed with the scale of the scid warden 
and master, and the boxe shal bee shutt with ij. keies, 
the one shal bee towards the warden, the other to the 
master." The pieces thus deposited were afterwards 
to be tested by a ceremony analogous to the present 
4 trial of the pix.' 

At different times in past ages the ' trial ' has been 
held in the Court of Exchequer and in the Council 
Chamber. The persons, too, who have conducted or 
presided on this occasion have varied from time to 
time — the Members of the King's Council, the Barons 
of the Exchequer, a Committee of Lords and Com- 
mons, the Commissioners of the Great Seal, the Lords 
Commissioners of the Treasury, — all have, at different 
times, been the controlling authority. 

The modern practice comprises two examinations 



into the weight and fineness of the coins produced. 
The first of these is called the pixing, and is carried 
on within the Mint, the object being to determine, for 
the security of the Master and superior officers, whether 
the money ers have rightly conducted their part of the 
operations ; while the other is the trial of the pix, 
before alluded to, carried on at Westminster, and 
intended to show whether the Mint, as an entire esta- 
blishment represented by the Master, has conducted 
its operations fairly and equitably towards the country 
at large, as represented by the Government. 

The gold and silver coins, after formation, are tied 
up in parcels called * journeys,' or 'journey-weights,' 
a journey of gold weighing 15 lbs., and of silver 60 lbs. 
troy. But before being thus tied up, one pound in 
talc is taken promiscuously from each parcel, and 
weighed by the king's assay-master in a balance of 
exquisite accuracy. He declares the minus or plus 
upon each pound, which is recorded by himself and 
two other officers ; and if this minus or plus exceeds 
the 'remedy* allowed to the moneyers, tney have to 
recoin the money ; or, even if the remedy be not ex- 
ceeded on a whole pound troy, if there be doubt whether 
the coins be equal among themselves, a few are sepa- 
rately weighed by the comptroller as a test, and ordered 
to be recoined if beyond the remedy. Supposing the 
weight to be satisfactory, two pieces are taken from 
each of these pound weights of coins — the one for the 
king's assay-master to assay, in order to, prove that the 
Company of Moneyers (who form a kind of sub-cor- 
poration within the Mint) have in no way deteriorated 
the quality of the silver or gold ; while the other is 
sealed in a packet, put into the pix or box, and locked 
up with three keys, kept respectively in the hands of 
the Master, the Warden, and the Comptroller of the 
Mint, until the trial of the pix is to take place at West- 
minster. When the king's assay-master has proved 
the piece delivered to him to be of the right standard 
(which in this case is taken as the average of the whole 
journey-weight), he authorizes the money to be deli- 
vered to the owners of the bullion from which it has 
been coined. The money itself is locked up in the 
strong-room of the Mint while the aBsay on the selected 
pieces is being made. 

Thus far the examination has been merely the 
pixing, carried on by the officers of the Mint for their 
own security. The trial of the pix takes place after- 
wards. This trial, according to Mr. Ruding, is con- 
ducted as follows : — 

Upon a memorial being presented by the Master of 
the Mint, praying that the trial shall take place, the 
question is brought by the Chancellor of the Exchequer 
before the sovereign in council ; and a summons is then 
issued to certain members of the Privy Council, to meet 
at one of the government-offices in the forenoon of a 
certain day. A precept is likewise directed by the 
Lord Chancellor to the wardens of the Goldsmiths' 
Company, requiring them to nominate and set down 
the names of a competent number of sufficient and able 
freemen of their company, skilful to determine and 
describe the defects of the coins (if any should be 
found), to form a jury to meet the privy-councillors. 
The number of these selected goldsmiths is usually 
twenty-five, of whom the assay-master of the Company 
is always one. 

When the court is formed, the clerk of the Gold- 
smiths' Company returns the precept, together with 
the list of names; the names are called over, and 
twelve persons are sworn. The President of the Court 
then gives his charge to the jury. Formerly this 
charge was so worded that the jury was required to 
examine ** by fire, by water, by touch, or by weight, 
or by all or by some of them, in the most just manner, 

O 2 



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100 THE PENNY MAGAZINE. [March 1G, 

whether the moneys were made accord ii 
indenture and standard trial-pieces, and \ 
remedy ;" hut in later times the charge has 
varied somewhat according to the person 
the office of president. When the charge is < 
the pix containing the coins is delivered tc 
and ihe court adjourns. 

The jury retire to a room appointed for 
pose, and are provided with tne pix, the i 
the Exchequer and of the Mint, and a baian 
sensibility. We do not know whether an 
have recently been made in the balance use 
occasions ; but some years back the balance 
would turn with six grains, when each scale ' 
with 48 lbs. 8 oz. Tne jury being seated, th 
reads ihe indenture or warrant under which 
of the Mint has acted, stating the conditi 
which he was to be considered as having fi 
office. The pix is then opened, and the 
money taken out. Each packet contains < 
the * journeys/ or parcels of coined gold 
and is sealed by the Warden, Master, and C 
of the Mint. When the seals of each packet t 
the foreman of the jury reads the indorsemei 
packet is examined, to see whether the cont 
with the indorsement. 

When all the packets are opened and fc 
right, the moneys contained in tuera are inixt 
in wooden bowls, and afterwards weighed 
weight registered. The indenture under 
Master has acted specifies that he is to 
agreeing with certain * trial-pieces * as to 1 
standard ; and the jury therefore examine h 
has been carried out. A sufficient quantity : 
one of the trial-pieces ; and by melting, and 
processes of assaying, the jury determine wh 
is the same proportion of fine gold or fim 
alloy in the new coins as in the trial-pieces, 
ing is very carefully made, and the results a 
fully registered. 

When the examination is finished, the i 
their verdict, wherein they state the manni 
the coins have been found to vary from the 
fineness required by the indenture, and w 
how much the variations exceed or fall si 
' remedies ' which are allowed ; and accord 
terms of the verdict the Master's quietu 
granted or withheld. 

For example, at a trial of the pix at 
Ruding was present, the gold coins in tl 
amounted by tale to 8914/. 13*. 6d, and b) 
100 lb. 9 oz. 8 dwt. According to the i 
mentioned in the Master's indenture, th 
question ought to have weighed 1901b. (3 
15 gr. ; so that they were deficient 1 dwt. ' 
the remedy on 190 lb. 9 oz. 9 dwt. 15 gr 
3 oz. 18 dwt., so that they were far within t 
and the result was deemed satisfactory. ( 
weight of the gold coins was then assayed, 
pared with the standard of the trial-piece! 
result was in this case likewise satisfactory. 

In a trial of the pix in 1818 the gold coin 
lated in the pix- box amounted to 8070/. 10* 



Economy of Futl. — In the coldest weather of the 
ter (1843), the required degree of temperature an 
at the Model Prison at Pentonville was maintained at a cost or 
lest than one half-penny per cell for twenty-four hours, although 
the cost of fuel was at London prices. — Parliamentary Rt~ 
port. 



surrey n not iainous ior us rivers : tne moie ana 
the Wey, which are the principal, both have their 
source in other counties. The Mole rises in Sussex, 
but is of little importance till it enters Surrey. It has 
been said to derive its name from its burrowing pro- 
pensities ; but of these we shall speak when we reach 



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the spot where it has been said to dig its way : it more 
likely received its name from its extremely tortuous 
course, which may have been thought to bear some re- 
semblance to that of a mole. It is no dashing stream, 
like those of the mountain districts; it is rather quiet, 
sober, and contemplative : it has been called "sullen" 
and "silent" by the poets — for poets have sung of it ; 
indeed, we are about to make the acquaintance of no 
commonplace river, but one that has been honoured 
by the muse of Milton, Drayton, Pope, Thomson, and 
many of lesser fame; mentioned by grave writers, 
and altogether is of name in the world ; though it must 
be admitted that its fame has been acquired — as hap- 
pens sometimes with men as well as rivers — by the 
supposed possession of qualities that do not belong to 
it. Yet whether deserved or not, its fame has given it 
a standing that makes all who approach it do so with 
an unusual degree of respect. Even Manning, in his 
huge * History of Surrey,' ventures a little beyond his 
usual style when he comes to speak of its source. 
" It is almost as difficult," he tells us, " to say which 
is the head of the Mole, as it is of the Nile." We 
shall not attempt to solve this difficulty, but content 
ourselves with saying that the Mole is formed by the 
union of several small streams that rise on the borders 
of Sussex. The main branch appears to be that which 
ha9 its source at Rusper, about two miles from Hor- 
sham Common, and enters Surrey at Charlwood, a 
little below which it is joined by another stream that 
rises in Tilgate Forest, Sussex. But although the Mole 
has its source in Sussex, it is a most insignificant 
stream for some distance after it has left that county. 
It belongs to Surrey, and, with the exception of the 
Wey (to which and to its associations we hope soon to 
introduce our readers), is the only river of importance 
it contains. 

There is little in the first few miles of its course that 
is remarkable : at Horley it turns a mill and begins to 
look a little like a river: Horley church, past which 
it flows, like many of the Surrey churches, is an inter- 
esting building. A mile or two farther on it is joined 



by another stream from Worth in Sussex, and soon 
after by a very beautiful one which issues from the 
foot of the hill near Merstham church in Surrey. Thus 
strengthened, it leaves the clean dull town of Reigate 
on the north, and pursues its wild way towards the 
Thames. The rambler who majr be tempted to follow 
its windings, may conveniently join it either at Reigate 
or at Horley ; there being a station at each of these 
places on the Brighton railway. At Reigate there is 
also a station belonging to the South-eastern Railway, 
which turns off at that place to Dover. There is little 
in Reigate to detain tne casual visitor— of its castle 
nothing now remains ; the Baron's Cave, as it is called, 
may indeed be just worth looking into ; and there is a 
pretty park. The town has that listless look so com- 
mon now in towns that depended much on posting and 
coach traffic, and which have been destroyed by the 
proximity of a railway. Those who knew it a dozen 
years ago will be glad to escape from the melancholy 
its present dullness generates. 

Let us then bend our steps down again to our river ; 
and we need not fear but the cheerful aspect of those 
broad meadows, the clear waters reflecting so gaily the 
bright glance of the sun, and the glad notes of the sky- 
larks, will effectually dissipate any obtrusive thoughts. 
There is a quiet cheerful look about the place we have 
now reached — a sort of Cuyp-like quiet — that is 
very pleasant. The banks of the river are low, and 
farm-houses and cottages, with a few tenements of a 
somewhat more ambitious character, are distributed 
about the valley, or formed into little straggling ham- 
lets, each with its rustic church and lofty trees, while 
here and there a water-mill gives an appearance of 
life to the whole, and by its sound affords an agreeable 
relief to the ear. Following our river, we soon arrive 
at Leigh, where is a farm-house known as Swain's, 
in which there is a tradition that Ben Jonson once 
resided ; and a room is still called his study. The Mole 
is apt in winter to overflow these parts, and at such 
times the fords, of which there are several, are im- 
passable. Posts are fixed at some of them, marked 



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[March 16, 



with a scale of feet, by the height of the water up ' 
which the traveller is guided. Perhaps some of our 
readers are acquainted with Bewick's engravings; if 
tliev have seen them, they will not have forgotten the 
• tail-pieces * with which he has so plentifully adorned 
his works on natural history— little hits of scenery, 
rustic adventures, scraps of all sorts illustrative of 
rural life : to those who know them, we can gjve no 
better idea of the character of the country in this 
neighbourhood, than that it reminds one, at every half- 
dozen 8tep3, of some of them. 

Wonum (or Wonham), along whose grounds our 
river runs, presents some charming diversities of 
scene ; indeed we here perhaps for the first time catch 
a fair view of the Mole's real character. The park 
has some fine trees, and the house is an important 
object. But with a passing glance at these, and at 
Moor Place, which looks as if it deserved a closer in- 
spection, we proceed, for much lies before us. There 
is a fine aristocratic appearance about Brock ham, the 
next place wc need notice ; and the park has many of 
those features that make English park-scenery always 
so interesting. But if we intend to keep beside our 
stream, it must be at a venture, for see ! here is a ditch 
both broad and deep to be got over, and there a notice 
— *• Whoever trespasses in these woods will be pro- 
secuted. ,, Let the rambler choose his own way ; 
whether through the wood and across the fields, or 
around and by the road, either is pleasant ; and either 
will bring us out by Brock ham -green, where the pru- 
dent pedestrian will do well to avail himself of the 
nospitality of the civil landlady of the Royal Oak, who 
will presently dress him something such as it is hard if 
he has not gained an appetite to relish, and give him 
*' some barley wine," as old Izaak Walton has it, '• the 
good liquor our honest forefathers did use to drink of; 
the drink which preserved their health, and made them 
live so long, and do so many good deeds." 

We must not stay long though. Betchworth Park 
is before us, and a stroll through that would repay our 
journey. The Mole is now a river of respectable size, 
and exceedingly picturesque. In the park is a large 
n umber of stately trees, oaks, el ms, walnuts, and beeches ; 
the river runs through it, and Box Hill towers on our 
right. Betchworth Park is, we think, in many respects 
the most beautiful of any within a like distance from 
London. Soon after we enter it from Brockham we 
see before us the ruins.of Betchworth Castle, as shown 
in the preceding page. They arc raised some height 
above the river, on a mound whose side is covered with 
a young plantation. The ruins are picturesque, and 
the grey walls, contrasted with the ricn tone ot the ivy 
that has crept over a good part of them, stand out finely 
against the deep blue sky. But those who associate 
with the phrase •• ruined castle," the idea of such fabrics 
as may be found in our border counties, will be dis- 
appointed here. Betchworth Castle is really a man- 
sion, not at all warlike in its appearance, that has 
apparently fallen into ruin as much through neglect 
as time and violence ; and there is little in its history 
that is more exciting than may be found in the records 
of the transfers of estates as families decay or tastes 
change. Yet, as there are not many ruins "in Surrey, 
this is not to be despised ; every care appears to 
be taken by its present proprietors to prolong its 
existence. 

The Mole in its course through the park is half con- 
cealed in many places by the dense foliage on its 
banks, chiefly of a profusion of alders with fantastic 
roots and curiously intertwisted branches, while it is 
further diversified with an abundance of little islets, 
miniatures of the aits so familiar on the Thames. There 
is many a spot along here that is perfectly tantalizing 
to the angler who cannot stay to cast a line. What fine 



carp must lie under those old roots! what chub too 
may ! and we happen to know that both here and in 
the mill-pond just outside the boundary of the park 
they used to be in plenty, and not small either. Hof- 
land, in his 'Angler's Manual,' says the Mole is too 
slow a river to furnish trout ; we think he might have 
found a few hereabouts ; and at Leatherhead some as 
fine as ever turned up a side in his favourite Hamp- 
shire Stour or Ullswater Lake. 

In our initial letter we have given a scrap of scenery 
from Betchworth Park. 

[To be continued.} 



LATE HOURS OF BUSINESS IN DRAPERS' 
SHOPS. 

Somk time ago an Association of Assistant- Drapers in 
London offered a prize of twenty guineas for the best 
Essay on the nature and extent of the " Evils which 
are produced by late Hours of Business, and on the 
Benefits which would attend their abridgment." About 
fifty essays were submitted to competent adjudicators, 
and several of them were deemed nighly meritorious ; 
but the prize was awarded to the one written by Mr. 
Thomas Davies, who was himself but recently an 
assistant-draper. The Hon. and Rev. Baptist Noel, in 
a preface to the essay, which has been published, justly 
remarks, "That a young man who, until a recent 
period, had to endure all the disadvantages arising 
from such an employment, should have produced a 
work the general style of which would do credit to an 
author of liberal education and of some experience 
in writing, pleads eloquently with every generous 
mind, that the class to which he once belonged should 
not be debarred from the opportunities of self-improve- 
ment which mechanics, aud even field-labourers, can 
command." A- perusal of Mr. Davies's essay satisfies 
us that the praise which Mr. Baptist Noel has awarded 
to it is no more than it deserved : it is a remarkable 
specimen of good style and just thoughts from one not 
professedly literary.* 

The facts which Mr. Davies details are briefly these 
— M The young men who serve in the shops are engaged 
in business variously from the hours of six, seven, or 
eight o'clock in the morning, to nine, ten, eleven, or 
twelve o'clock in the evening ; these variations being 
according to the season, the character of the shop, and 
the custom of the neighbourhood. That is, they are 
occupied for a longer time each day in the summer 
than in the winter, in all shops ; while those shops 
which are frequented chiefly by the middle or working 
classes are kept open later than those which are fre- 
quented by the upper classes. A further difference 
also exists according to the kind of street in which the 
shop may be situated. Thus in busy thoroughfares 
they are generally kept open later than in more retired 
streets. The best shops in the best neighbourhoods 
are generally opened at seven o'clock in the morning 
(in some few cases at six o'clock), at which hour a 
certain number of the young men come down to make 
preparations for business in their several departments. 
At eight o'clock (or in some cases at half-past seven) 
the others, who may be called the seniors, come down, 
when the former party arc allowed to retire for half 
an hour for the purpose of dressing. After their re- 
appearance there is no further release from the engage- 
ments of the shop (excepting for those wonderfully 
short periods of time in which assistant-drapers manage 
to consume the necessary quantity of food at meals% 

* Mr. Davies observes, that " while the mechanic or day- 
labourer has half an hour allowed him for breakfast, and an 
hour for dinner, out of his twelve hours of labour, the assistant- 
draper has no fixed time allowed for either. Fire or ten minutes 



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until the whole business of the day is over ; and every 
article, from a piece of silk to a roll of riband or a 
paper of pins, has been carefully put into its appointed 
place. Sometimes, when, owing to the weather or 
some other cause, there have been but few customers 
during the day, this re-arrangement is completed by 
the time of shutting the shop, which in the present case 
is from eight o'clock to nine in the winter, and from 
nine to ten in the summer. But on busy days, and 
during nearly the whole of the spring and former part 
of the summer, it is often found to be impossible to 
leave the shop within one, two, or three hours after it 
lias been closed. So that during a large part of the 
year it is a common thing for these young men to be 
pent up in the shop from six or seven o'clock in the 
morning until ten or eleven at night. This is a de- 
scription of the present mode of carrying on business, 
as it appears in the most favourable aspect. The far 
larger number of shops, which are frequented chiefly 
by the middle and working classes, are kept open until 
nine or ten o'clock in the winter, and ten or eleven in 
the summer. So that it frequently happens that the 
younfr. men are employed from seven o'clock in the 
morning until twelve at night ; that is, for a period 
of seventeen hours out of the twenty-four ! On Satur- 
days the time for closing (as if in mockery of a • pre- 
paration for the Sabbath') is in all cases later. In 
many shops the young men are often unable to retire 
to rest until one or two o'clock in the Sunday morning." 
During these long hours of business it would be 
considered an unpardonable offence in any young man 
either to sit down or take up a book, should he happen 
to be unoccupied for a few minutes. He spends the 
long day in a vitiated atmosphere, which at night is still 
more deteriorated by the gas-lights, " all day on the move, 
yet never in exercise ; always engaged in what wearies 
the body, but never in that which invigorates." Nor 
should it be forgotten that the assistant-draper is ex- 
posed to considerable anxiety. He has not only to 
show his customers the articles which they demand, 
but is expected to make them buy. 4< In some cases, 
it is at the peril of losing his situation that he fails to 
persuade the customer to buy ; in nearly all cases, the 
frequent repetition of such failures is sure to produce 
such a catastrophe." At ten at night, perhaps the 
assistant-draper escapes from the pernicious atmos- 
phere which he has breathed for so many hours, and 
for the first time in the day feels that his lot has some 
alleviations ; but the sunshine no longer diffuses its 
genial warmth and cheerfulness ; the houses of friends 
are closed at such an hour, and he is therefore excluded 
from cultivated and virtuous society; and it is too late to 
attend scientific or literary institutions, even were the 
mind not sufficiently wearied with the labours of the 
day. It appears that out of seven hundred members 
of the London Mechanics' Institute there is only one 
draper ; and Mr. Davies shows tbat this class have no 
opportunity of acquiring knowledge "beyond that 
superficial information which may be obtained by 
sleepy glances at the newspaper :" ana again , he remarks, 
that " they who have the strongest taste for literature 
have recourse only to the lighter kinds ; and even while 
thus engaged, they often fall asleep with the book in 
their hands." A weakening of the mental faculties, 
and contracted and prejudiced minds, are the result of 
this deprivation of opportunities of acquiring know- 
ledge, and exercising the intellectual faculties. The 

it the usual time spent at breakfast or tea ; and dinner is hur- 
riedly snatched as it can be during some momentary intermission 
of business. The idea of perfect mastication, or of sitting a little 
while after meals, would be regarded as preposterous. We may 
safely assert that, in nineteen shops out of twenty, the average 
time spent at the three meals, breakfast, dinner, and tea, is not 
more than half an hour.' 1 



consequences to health of such a life arc obvious ; 
and the moral evils are not less painful to contemplate. 
" Forbidden all relaxation and amusement, denied all 
aliment for their minds, and separated from whatever 
is endeared to their hearts, many sink into a dejection 
which the knowledge that they may at any moment be 
discharged, if the sales which they effect do not satisfy 
their employers, confirms and deepens. Of course in 
the absence of reading, of intellectual conversation, 
and of all other instruction, their faculties wither away ; 
wliile a desperate longing to throw off the eternal yoke 
of unvarying, unmitigated, profitless, and thankless 
toil — a passionate thirst for some enjoyment— for which 
no friendships, no good society, no wholesome amuse- 
ment, no holidays, no change of scene, no affectionate 
intercourse with any living beings, no prospect of a 
home (for few shops will employ married men), affords 
any alleviation, hurry numbers, against interest and 
against conscience, in the face of ulterior mischiefs 
which glare upon them like spectres from the obscure 
future, to plunge into the haunts of vice, and to put 
on its manacles/'* 

We are told that in this business, in London, it is 
customary to discharge an assistant without an instant's 
warning. A trade in which those employed are so 
little protected against the passion or caprice of the 
employers is certainly not in a sound state. While the 
competition for business is no doubt excessive amongst 
the master-drapers, the struggle to obtain employment 
is still more so amongst their assistants. So many are 
seduced by inexperience into the belief that within the 
glittering shops which meet the gaze in all the great 
thoroughfares of the metropolis all is as fair as the 
outside view ; and so many youths in remote country 
towns dream of London as a very haven of delight, 
and are discontented until they reach this goal of their 
hopes. Now, would it not be better that a large pro- 
portion of these young men, instead of committing 
themselves to a life such as Mr. Davies has described, 
should endeavour to seek a bolder sphere for their 
enterprise in our colonial possessions? There they 
mi^ht assume the dignity of men ; and the exercise of 
their energies of itself would be a source of happiness, 
while by perseverance and industry they would at 
the same time be acquiring property and indepen- 
dence in healthful pursuits. Something may, how- 
ever, still be done by moral means, and also on econo- 
mical grounds, to improve the condition of the draper's 
assistants. Public opinion is gradually becoming more 
conscientious in its action ; and when once an abuse 
is dragged into the light of day, some mitigation of 
its evils cannot well be avoided. Persons of strictly 
Christian principles will feel that they are doing an 
injustice to their fellow-creatures by resorting to shops 
at late hours, and giving their countenance to a sys- 
tem which is productive of so much evil ; and they will 
not fail to give the preference to those establishments 
which attempt, perhaps at some loss in the first in- 
stance, to allow to those in their employment advan- 
tages which are not denied to many classes of a more 
humble station. Such considerate employers would 
be sought after by the best assistants, and they would 
be able to make their choice from the best-conducted 
young men in the trade. This is one of the economi- 
cal advantages which would attend an alteration of 
the present hours ; but other general advantages of 
abridging the present intolerable length of the hours 
of business would be felt by the employers, as well 
as by their assistants. First, as to the assistants them- 
selves : — "Short hours would materially tend to 
secure to them health, cheerfulness, long life, and 
knowledge. In some cases they would strengthen the 

* Preface to Mr. Daviess Essay, by the Hon. and ltev 
Biptist Noel. 



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habits of religion and morality ; in all they would de- 
stroy some of the most powerful inducements to vice 
and to ungodliness. The assertion, that they would 
be more vicious if they were earlier dismissed from 
their duties, is equally contrary to theory and to fact. 
Now a forced ignorance tempts them to vice, and they 
seek vicious gratifications as the only ones within their 
reach ; but then they would have access to instruction : 
at present they are impelled to intemperance, because 
they feel exhausted and depressed ; then they would 
retain the vigour of mind and body which would lessen 
the craving for such stimulants The shop- 
keeper, in giving the evening to his young men, would 
save it for himself; and thus, securing the opportu- 
nities of mental culture, and of repose in the bosom 
of his family from the toils of money-making, would 
be a wiser and a happier man. His assistants, more 
healthy, cheerful, and zealous, would work better for 
him during the day ; he would save his gas at night, 
and, to compensate for the loss of a few nocturnal cus- 
tomers, he would probably gain some better day-light 

ones." Next, as to the public : — *' Almost all 

purchases may be made more safely by daylight, when 
the texture of the goods can be examined and the 
colours more distinctly seen. Few respectable families 
would refuse their servants time during the day to 
purchase what they need. It is better for mothers in 
the working classes to be at home with their husbands 
in the evening than to reserve those hours for shop- 
ping. And, of all the persons concerned, milliners and 
dressmakers should most desire the change ; because, 
while others work late, their destructive labours will 
go unmitigated ; but if all other classes are dismissed 
at an earlier hour, public feeling will not long suffer 
them to be worn out in early youth by protracted 
toil."* 

We learn from the last Report of the Metropolitan 
Drapers' Association that in London the "evening 
trade has materially decreased :" many of the most 
respectable houses now close their establishments at 
seven o'clock in the evening, though this improve- 
ment is still unhappily far from being general. In 
most of the large towns similar efforts have been made 
to obtain a diminution of the long hours of business. We 
may add, that in London, in particular, this movement 
has been characterised by a nigh moral tone, and that 
neither clamour nor intimidation have been used. A 
great social benefit is desired, and it has been sought 
for by the only means in which such benefits are to be 
obtained. 

Anecdote* of a Robin Redbreatt. — The following anecdotes have 
beeu sent to us by a clergyman, who vouches for the correctness 
of every one of them : — " The bird referred to passed a great part 
of five winters in my parlour, and had entered upon the sixth 
when he disappeared, having most probably fallen a prey to his 
merciless enemy the cat, from whose clutches, notwithstanding 
his fine eye and vigilant habits, it was wonderful he escaped so 
long. The first winter during which Robin took shelter under 
my roof proved a severe one, and afforded me an opportunity of 
becoming pretty well acquainted with my new guest. He soon 
came to know who kept the key of the pantry, and whenever that 
key was turned he was on the alert, ana bopped in fearlessly to 
receive from the mistress of the family some cheese-cruras, of 
which he was particularly fond. He very early became ac- 
quainted with the eutrance to the kitchen, and the stair which 
connected it with the parlour; and if a fine day occurred, he 
seldom failed to go out, but always returned before night. His 
favourite place of rest was the fold of a festooned window-curtain, 
which for his accommodation was never dropped, and in which 
I had a little basket placed, in which be took great delight, and 
always occupied it in the night time. From the attention which 
I paid to him, he became very familiar with me, and seemed to 
enjoy getting as near to me as possible, insomuch that he was 
frequently perched upon the comer of a portable desk which I 

* Preface, by the Hon. and Rev. Baptist Noel. 



used when writing, and gave me a sweet song in requital for 
my kindness. All these proofs of domestication other robins 
may perhaps have exhibited, but I am going to mention some 
circumstances respecting him which I apprehend are not to 
common. When spring returned, he dispensed with the shelter 
which my house afforded him during the winter, and set out, 
like Calebs, in search of a wife. This comfort he was not long 
in finding, aud his first care seemed to be to introduce her to my 
notice. When I went into the garden, he showed that he had no 
wish to dror) my acquaintance, but rather to render it subservient 
to the alleviation of some of his domestic cares. He came close 
to my foot, and when I held out my hand he alighted upon it, 
expecting to find the cheese-crums with which I was wont to 
feed him. I took the hint, provided a small 'box, which I 
replenished from time to time with such food as I knew be 
liked, and to which Robin, coming from the most distant part 
of the garden or adjoining plantation, when he saw me, applied 
with the most perfect confidence. I have said that he wisned to 
introduce his chosen mate to my notice. He brought her as 
near to me as possible, but Robjua, a name given to her by a friend 
of mine, never conquered her fears so far as to alight on my 
hand. She frequently, however, sat on a tree or bush hard 
by, and was fed by Robin, who carried crums to her out 
of my little box. It appears that the females of these birds 
choose the situation of the nest, for some seasons it was at so 
great a distance from my habitation, that a long time elapsed 
before we discovered the place. Robin, however, had no desire 
to conceal it from us, and seemed as much delighted to feed bis 
young as be had been to feed his mate from my hand j and 
when the young were fledged and left the nest, he brought them 
nearer and nearer to my dwelling, as they were able to extend 
their flights, that he might avail himself more fully of my 
bounty iu supplying them with the means of feeding them. I 
may mention here, that his nest having one season been close 
upon the river, a terrier which hap]»eued to follow me so 
frightened the brood at the moment they had essayed to fly, that 
they got entangled among long grass, and one of them fluttered 
into the river, aud was with some difficulty saved by me from 
drowning. The distress and anxiety shown by the parent bird 
upon this occasion was very striking, but the most remarkable 
part of the story remains still to be told. Happening to pass that 
way some days after, accompanied by the same dog, he met me 
at a little distance from the place where his young were, and, 

{*rching on the branch of a tree exactly opuosite to my face, 
le screeched and showed signs of distress, the language of which 
was as plain as if he could have articulated it, ' Why have you 
allowed this dog to come here again to put my progeny in 
jeopardy ?' This anxiety and distress was equally great upon 
another occasion, when, having brought his youug to be fed from 
a window, one of them got between the sashes when drawn up, 
and was not without difficulty relieved from its perilous situa- 
tion. Such, however, was his reliance on our good offices, that 
he never resented such occurrences, but placed them entirely to 
the chapter of accidents. I remember one moming that having 
gone out in my night-cap, which was not my custom, Robin 
kept at some distance, not satisfied about my identity: he hesi- 
tated, but ventured nearer and nearer till, his doubts being re- 
moved, he alighted on my shoulder. There was one summer 
iu which Robiua had chosen her nest at a distance unusually 
great from my house, for I never saw my little favourite during 
the whole course of it ; month after month passed away, and I 
gave him up for lost. Walking in my garden one day, accom- 
panied by a friend, I observed a robin, and said, ' If my robin 
were alive, I should say that is he/ Accordingly, I no sooner 
stopped and extended my hand than he alighted upon it Thia 
happened exactly seven months from the time I bad last seen 
him, and afforded a most astonishing proof of memory iu to 
small an organized being. This faculty, however, was not dis- 
played in a solitary instance, but was conspicuous at the com- 
mencement of every succeeding wiuter. Ins way to the parlour 
was familiar to him, and as soon as he entered it, all his old 
haunts and habits were resumed, and he resorted to his little 
basket iu the window-curtain at night, just as if he had been 
but one day in place of seven or eight months abseut. I shall 
only add that on different occasions when about to leave borne, 
Robin has perched on the arm of the gig, as if to request per- 
mission to be of the party. When he made his appearance at 
the commencement of the sixth winter, his welcome was of the 
most cordial kind, and his loss proportionally regretted."— 
f'htlornis. 



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Iu5 



[Auction Mtrt.] 



AUCTIONS IN LONDON.— No. II. 



The numerous divisions into which the general busi- 
ness of Selling by Auction has separated in the metro- 
polis, afford noticeable illustration of extraordinary 
magnitude. The connoisseur in pictures and prints, 
goes his rounds regularly through one series of rooms, 
where little else ever meets his eyes ; the book-collector 
has his special haunts where the diffusion of know- 
ledge through the agency of folio, quarto, octavo, and 
duodecimo is alone cared for ; the book-publisher has 
not unfrequently his private 'Trade Sale, where, after 
an excellent dinner given to them at some first-rate 
hotel, the booksellers discuss, over their wine and 
dessert, the commercial merit of the last new volume 
of poems, fiction, or history; furniture occupies the 
principal attention of a third class of auctioneers, 
carriages and horses of a fourth ; whilst, greatest of all, 
there are some — the mighty ones of the calling — who 
hardly condescend to guide any less important pro- 
perty than estates, leasehold, copyhold, or freehold, 
through all the eventful stages of 'Going,' 'Going,* 
•Going,' to the final ' Gone,' so expressively signified 
by the abrupt conclusive tap of the potent hammer. 

Another and still'more striking, because more pal- 
pable evidence of the greatness of our metropolitan 
auctions, presents an exactly opposite characteristic : 
at 'GarrawayV and at the ' Mart,' Bartholomew Lane, 
the two most famous auction-places in London, it is the 
concentration of business that arrests the stranger's at- 
tention, he is astonished there at the immense number, 
amount, and variety of sales of property of all kinds 
that take place in tnem. Let us avail ourselves of a 
brief glance at the two. And first we will step into 
Change Alley, dark, narrow, and full of short turnings, 
lined on eacn side with dingy-looking shops or dun- 
geon offices, but not the less a region of thorough 
romance, if indeed the realities enacted here did not 
surpass the wildest dreams of man's imagination ; this 

no. 768. 



alley was what we may ca>U the local home of the 
great South-Sea Bubble. And a terrible picture of it 
is preserved to us in Swift's writings, where, likening 
the alley itself to a gulf in those very seas from whence 
such unsummed treasures were to be obtained, he 
says — 

M Subscribers here l>y thousands float, 

And jostle one another down ; 
Each paddling in his leaky boat, 

And here they lish for gold, and drown 

Now buried in the depths below, 
Now mounted up to heaven again, 

They reel and stagger to and fro, 

At their wit's end, like drunken men. 

Meantime, secure on Garraway cliffs, 

A savage race, by shipwrecks fed, 
Lie waiting for the foundered skiffs. 

And strip the bodies of the dead." 

The alley has experienced little outward change 
since the period here referred to : the old shops have 
here and tnere put on new faces, nut the thoroughfare 
is as narrow as ever ; Garra way's still flourishes in a 
kind of immortal youth, though distinguished by more 
legitimately commercial objects than that of accommo- 
dating lookers-on, while, in typical language, they 
" strip the bodies of the dead V' it is now, with one ex- 
ception (the Mart), the place where the greatest num- 
ber of important metropolitan sales occur. The sale- 
rooms on the upper floor of the building present no- 
thing remarkable, but the coffee-room below has a 
most primitive and peculiar aspect. Not all the win- 
dows of the extensive range that surrounds the greater 
part of the long, low, broad room, serve to do more 
than just give sufficient light to the preparer of the 
dainty sandwiches, or to the enjoyers of the same, who 
are walking about plate in hand, or standing opposite 
the immense fire, with its pairs of Titan-like coffee- 
pots, resting on a kind of battlement in front. And 
oe it observed, they ape proud here of the reputation 



Vol. XIII 



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[March 23, 



of Garraway's, and fully conscious of the responsibilities 
that reputation has conferred on the successors of the 
illustrious founder, even in the humble matter of sand- 
wiches, than which nothing can be better, unless it 
be indeed the glass of porter that should always ac- 
company them. 

The Auction Mart is a very different looking place. 
Of its exterior we need not speak, since the cut de- 
scribes it sufficiently. On entering, we find ourselves 
in a handsome and large saloon, with a noble stair- 
case ascending in front from the farther end, offices 
on either side partially covered with printed bills of 
sales by auction, houses to let, and similar matters, 
and above which appear curious little dark gal- 
leries, to which we ascend by doors just within the 
entrance. These doors and galleries are connected with 
sundry small offices, occupied mostly by solicitors and 
brokers, although originally intended for auctioneers. 
But that was an idea belonging to the palmy time of 
the Auction Mart, when it was calculated that great 
profits would accrue to the proprietors from the erection 
of the building. This took place in 1808, and for a time 
the most sanguine anticipations were exceeded ; on the 
2Gth of December. 1809, a single 50*. share was worth 
105/. 10*. ; now the same is worth about 25/., and the 
price has been as low as 17/. This unfortunate result, 
nowever, appears to have been mainly owing to an un- 
necessary expenditure ; the building alone, independent 
of fittings up, furniture, &c., cost 42,000/., or* as much, 
wc understand, as the neighbouring Mansion-house. 
Then these fittings up were, in some respects at least, 
on an absurdly extravagant scale ; a part of the wall at 
the top of the great staircase, forming a long horizon- 
tal strip of windows, was filled up by three pieces of 
plate-glass, costing each about 60/. ; and which were 
afterwards broken by some accident — a slight settle- 
ment of the wall, we believe. The joint-stock now 
comprises one thousand and eighty shares of 50/. each, 
two hundred of which are in the possession of the 
tiustces of the building, to provide for repairs and 
similar contingencies. The directors are among the 
most eminent of the London auctioneers. 

Even as we pause in the hall to look around us, the 
systematic arrangements for the management of the 
business of the mart, that meet the eye, convey a 
forcible impression of the extent of that business. 
First, there are tables of general information, where, 
for instance, we learn if any property recently adver- 
tised for sale by auction has been previously disposed 
of by private contract, or if any announced sales have 
been postponed or countermanded. Next the eye falls 
upon the tables that show us the sales of to-day, and 
in what part of the building they will be carried on. 
Lastly, in the centre, raised on high, is a small six- 
sided frame, each side headed with the name of one of 
the days of the week ; consequently, if you want to see 
what sales occur on the next Friday, you look at the 
44 Friday" side. But that is not all. Each side is di- 
vided again horizontally into seven portions, marked 
A, B, C, &c, referring to the seven principal rooms 
of the Mart, in which auctions take place ; so that we 
see at once not only on what days of the week, but 
also in what rooms sales will take place. Thus, next 
Friday, we perceive one gentleman is going to sell 
various leasehold estates in the room B, upper floor ; 
another, pictures and effects in the neighbouring room 
D ; a third, pinks, piccotees, and carnations in the 
room C, on the first or principal floor. The arrange- 
ments preliminary to this announcement are very 
simple. The auctioneer goes to the secretary, is shown 
the book for the ensuing week, constructed on a similar 
principle to the frame above described, turns to the 
page which refers to the day he has selected, and there 
chooses the room he likes best of those not already 



engaged, and writes his name in the compartment set 
apart to such room. Before we ascend the staircase, 
there are one or two other features of the ground floor 
demanding notice. The side doors leading upward to 
the quaint-looking galleries already mentioned lead also 
downwards to an humble coffee-room, a kind of tap in the 
basement, and where, if you grope about lonjr, enough, 
you will find sundry offices and a poulterer s shop in 
full business, though without the aid of candles it 
would evidently be impossible to tell flesh from fowl 
in such a place in the lightest day. But the more ex- 
traordinary part of the business is that these cellar- 
offices should have been so much in request during the 
temporary flush of the Mart's prosperity as to let for 
sums that we feel reluctant to mention, though ob- 
tained from excellent authority; we have been in- 
formed that they were let, at the period in question, at 
rents of 70/. and 80/. a-year each ! The coffee-room 
proper is entered bv a door in the saloon under the 
great staircase, and forms a large room where refresh- 
ments of all kinds are provided for the use of the 
visitors to the mart, including of course all persons 
that think proper to come. As we ascend the stair- 
case, an inscription in the window informs us that 
44 The sales commence immediately on ringing the bell." 
The rooms are admirably adapted for their purpose, 
and at once handsomely and conveniently fitted tip. 
A series of low mahogany tables with benches extends , 
through the centre of the room, and up to (at one 
end) the enclosed and raised space like a judge's bench, 
which forms the auctioneer's sacred domain, and in 
the middle of which, raised on high, stand his chair 
and desk. Everything indeed wears such a com- 
fortable aspect, that one could fancy the days of Queen 
Anne had returned again ; wc look round almost ex- 
pecting to see some dowager enter with a lap-dog under 
ner arm, or some mincing beau with his "clouded 
cane." The picture-rooms are on the upper story, and 
admirably lighted from above. With so many advan- 
tages, direct and indirect, attending sales in the Mart, 
it is not to be wondered at that nearly all the most 
eminent auctioneers hold sales frequently in its rooms, 
and that some sell there only. All the property sold 
by order of the Courts of Chancery in any public sale- 
room in London is also especially directed to be sold at 
the Mart. It is of course impossible to give any useful 
statistical view of 4hc amount of the transactions here 
within any given time, for this among other reasons — 
that an immense amount of property, after being 
exposed for sale and having failed to reach an ade- 
quate price, is bought in, and then disposed of 
privately. 

There are various other points that might be men- 
tioned in connection with the Mart, such, for instance, 
as its various arrangements for the collection and 
registration of information that may be useful to those 
who attend it : but a feature of more general interest 
is that referred to under the head '* Arbitrations" in 
the little printed pamphlet issued by the directors 
when the establishment first commenced operations ; 
and with an extract from the pages of that publication 
we conclude (reserving for another opportunity a notice 
of the most interesting of London auctions, Tatter- 
sall's). The passage in question states :— 4< The con- 
venience which the Auction Mart possesses, from its 
contiguity to the principal theatres of commerce, may 
be embraced for every purpose which will not intrude 
upon the decorum indispensable to be observed in a 
building devoted to business of importance. Solicitors, 
arbitrators, committees, meetings of creditors, and 
others of a general and public kind, will find accom- 
modation adapted to their respective pursuits ; and it 
is particularly wished that the Mart should be consi- 
dered as a respectable resort, not only upon such affairs 



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as are immediately connected with the institution, but 
upon any other concerns which require private and 
tranquil discussion." 



THE PRODUCE OF THE CHERRY. 

The cherry is remarkable for the number of favourite 
beverages prepared from it But there are also other 
products which give it a claim to our attention. 

The cherry-tree, in a wild state, is found in all the 
countries of central Europe, as well as in many parts 
of Russia and Norway; likewise in some parts of 
Africa and Asia. Indeed it has been supposed by some 
writers that Asia is the birth-place of this tree ; though 
, others dispute the opinion. The cultivated cherry is 
supposed to have been introduced into England by the 
Romans ; and it is also conjectured that Kent was the 
county where a cherry-orchard was first planted, and 
where the fruit has ever since been reared m high per- 
fection. In France the tree has been so much prized, 
as supplying food to the poor, that a law was passed in 
1669, commanding the preservation of all cherry-trees 
in the royal forests. •' The consequence of this was," 
says Mr. Loudon, " that the forests became so full of 
fruit-trees, that there was no longer room for the 
underwood ; when, as usual, going to the other ex- 
treme, all the fruit-trees were cut down, except such 
young ones as were included among the number of 
standard saplings required by the law to be left to secure 
a supply of timber. This measure, Bosc remarks, 
was a great calamity for the poor, who, during several 
months of the year, lived either directly or indirectly 
on the produce of the uierisier (cherry-tree). Soup 
made of the fruit, with a little bread and a little butter, 
was the common nourishment of the wood-cutters and 
the charcoal-burners of the forest during the winter. 
At present, he says (writing in 1819), the fruit is 
wanting, and they have nothing to supply its place. 
The few cherries which they can gather from the re- 
maining trees are eaten on the spot or sold to make 
liqueurs." 

The different kinds of cherry have, as may be sup- 
posed, different degrees of fitness for useful applica- 
tion. With respect to the wood, that of the wild cherry 
(Cerasus Campestris) is most valued. It is firm, strong, 
close-grained, and of a reddish colour ; and yet soft and 
easily worked. Being susceptible of receiving a fine 
polish, it is used as a veneer for various articles of 
cabinet furniture, as well as for musical instruments, 
and for turnery- ware, especially in France, where 
mahogany is not so much used for such purposes as in 
England. The colour is increased in brilliancy and 
depth of hue by steeping it for a dav or two'in lime- 
water, and polishing it immediately after the steeping: 
this process is said to prevent the tints from fading by 
' the action of the sun. In some parts of France, where 
the tree grows very plentifully, the wood is used for 
various purposes by the common carpenter ; and in 
other parts of the same country it is used for wine- 
casks, which arc believed to imbibe from the wood a 
quality favourable to the flavour of the wine. In some 
modes of growth, the tree yields strong straight shoots 
which make excellent hop-poles, vine-poles, and hoops 
for casks. When used for fire-wood, it must have 
been recently cut down, as it acquires by age a rotten- 
ness which makes it smoulder like tinder, rather than 
burn like wood. 

The bark of the cherry-tree is composed of four 
layers, two hard and fibrous, and two soft and spongy. 
Two of these yield a yellow dye, and also a substitute 
for cinchona in medicine. The tree yields also a gum, 
which, according to Hasselquist, sustained alive on one 
occasion a hundred men during a siege for nearly two 



months; they took a little of the gum into their 
month?, and allowed it to remain there till dissolved. 
The leaves of the cherry are a favourite food with many 
animals ; and they are also used in flavouring liqueurs 
and custards. 

It is, however, for the fruit and its produce that the 
tree is most valued. So greatly is the fruit relished in 
most countries, that both holidays and government 
regulations are made with express reference to it. 
Thus, in some parts of Cambridgeshire, on a particular 
Monday at the season when the cherries are ripe, num- 
bers of people go for a holiday to the cherry-orchards, 
and pay sixpence for permission to eat as much fruit as 
they like. At other places a similar practice exists, 
without reference to any particular day. iln Lambeth 
there was a place of public entertainment called the 
Cherry Gardens, probably so called from having the 
fruit consumed on the spot during the season. A 
rural ffite takes place in France at the time of the 
ripening of the cherry. Xhere are in Western Ger- 
many avenues of cherry-trees many days' journey 
in extent, from Strasburg to Munich. These ave- 
nues were planted under the auspices of the respec- 
tive governments, not only for shading travellers, 
but for their refreshment also; for all persons are 
allowed to partake of the cherries, on condition of not 
injuring the trees ; but the main crop of fruit when 
ripe is gathered by the respective proprietors of the 
land on which it grows. There is a pleasing example 
furnished in those countries of a sense of honour on 
the part of those who are thus generously cared for by 
the government: if a proprietor wishes to preserve 
the fruit of any particular tree to himself, he ties a 
wisp of straw to a conspicuous part of one of the 
branches ; and this symbol is always respected by the 

Eassing traveller, who avoids this tree while helping 
imself to fruit. 

The fruit of the cherry, unless eaten as it comes from 
the tree, is almost always used in the preparation of 
some kind of drink ; but in some cases it is prepared 
in another form. In France, the soft-flesh cherries 
are dried -by exposure to the sun, or in a moderately 
heated oven. They are preserved in a somewhat 
similar way in some parts of Germany and Russia ; 
and occasionally preserves, marmalades, lozenges, and 
other kinds of confectionary are made from them. 
From the kernels an oil may oe obtained, which is used 
as a substitute for bitter almonds in creams, sugar- 
plums, and other preparations. 

In the northern parts of Germany, the use of Kirseh- 
wasser (cherry- water) is very prevalent. The drink 
is pleasant and innocuous, and is provided at public 
gardens, somewhat analogous to our tea-gardens : when 
the labours of the day are over, a working-man takes 
his wife and children to one of these gardens on fine 
summer evenings, where they join in little amusements 
going forward, partake of the favourite kirsehwasser 
(which is sold at a very low price), and return home at 
an early hour. 

In Gill's ' Technological Repository,* the following is 
given as the mode of making kirsehwasser in the Black 
Forest: — ••When the cherries are ripe, they are 
gathered carefully one by one with the hand, rejecting 
those which are over-ripe, those which have separated 
from the stalk, and those which are in any degree rot- 
ten or damaged. A large quantity being thus col- 
lected, they are freed from the stalks, and crushed in 
a wicker basket made a little concave, and placed over 
a tub rather smaller than the basket ; and the juice, 
expressed by the bruising, falls into the tub. One- 
fourth part of the pulpy residue is mixed with the 
juice, placed in a cask, covered, and allowed to fer- 
ment. When the fermentation is complete, the cask is 
uncovered, and the fermented liquid is drawn off by 

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a cock at the bottom into a basin. From thence it is 
conveyed to an alembic, or still, which, as a means of 
preserving the purity of the flavour in the liquor, is in 
the best manufactories made of tin ; and the distilla- 
tion goes on till a certain recognised strength is pro- 
duced. When properly made, it leaves the still in the 
most limpid and colourless state, and is preserved in 
stone vessels or bottles to prevent it from receiving 
any tinge. Of the qualities of this liquor, it is said 
that ' when the kirschwasser is well made it has no 
acrid or empyreumatic flavour ; and when old, it is not 
only pleasant to drink, but it possesses also the valuable 
property of helping the digestion, and warming the 
stomach by its spirit. Physicians recommend this 
liqueur in indigestion, and as a preservative against 
certain maladies. Experiments, a thousand times re- 
peated, have proved that fruits are preserved in brandy ; 
whereas they are decomposed and mollified in the 
kirschwasser. The valuable qualities which it is known 
this liqueur possesses, beyond contradiction, increase 
the interest which every one must feel in seeing that 
it is prepared with every possible care, not only to free 
it from the ill taste which it is well known it too often 
possesses, but also (and which is more important) from 
the deleterious principle which it contains when not 
carefully made.' " 

In a communication to one of the volumes of the 
* Gardener's Magazine,' a mode is described of making 
kirschwasser " as good as the Swiss kirschwasser." The 
instructions are, to bruise the fruit, kernels, and pulp 
in a wooden tub or mortar, and add to every twenty 
pints of bruised fruit five pints of water, and two pints 
of gooseberry brandy j the liquor is squeezed from the 
mixture, and the distillation then goes on : but a little 
confusion in the description leaves it doubtful whether 
all, some, or none of the residue is put into the still 
with the liquor. 

Among the other liquors prepared from cherries, 
cherry-brandy is perhaps the best known in England. 
Black cherries arc used for this purpose. A bottle is 
half filled with them, filled up with hrandy of spirits, 
and allowed to remain a month or two, when it is 
considered fit for use. Sugar is generally used to 
Bwretcn it. 

In Russia cherry -ivine is made by crushing sixty or 
seventy pounds oi cherries in a tub, so that the stones 
become broken with the pulp ; and then adding a 
pound or two of honey, a small quantity of brandy or 
wine, and a little yeast. When this mixture has been al- 
lowed to ferment, it is cleared of the yeast and poured 
into kegs or bottles, and then placed in a cool cellar. 
Wine and brandy are sometimes omitted, and a greater 
quantity of honey used in lieu of them. 

Ratafia and Maraschino are two other beverages pre- 
pared from cherries. The former is made at Grenoble 
from a large black cherry ; and indeed both of them 
may serve to illustrate the nature of the drinks which 
the French call by the general name of liqueurs. These 
liqueurs are palatable spirituous drinks, composed of 
water, alcohol, sugar, and some aromatic infusion ex- 
tracted from fruits or seed. According to the propor- 
tions in which these several ingredients are combined, 
the liqueur puts on one of three forms — a ratafia or eau t 
an oil, or a erf me. Thus, in anise- water, eau-de-noyau, 
cherry-ratafia, apricot-ratafia, &c, the sugar, the alco- 
hol, and the aromatic extract are in small proportions 
with respect to the water. When the sugar and the 
alcohol are in somewhat larger proportion in the 
liqueur, it assumes the name of an oil, such as the oil 
of aniseed. When the preparation is of the highest 
and finest quality, it becomes a crthnc, or superfine 
liqueur, such as maraschino, Dautzic water, &c. So 
far as respects our present subject, then, ratafia and 
maraschino may be considered two different qualities 



of liqueurs prepared from the cherry ; the one simple 
and watery, the other rich and highly flavoured. 

Mr. Loudon, while speaking of maraschino, says, 
44 The kind of cherrv preferred for this purpose is a 
small acid fruit, called marasca, which abounds in 
the north of Italy, at Trieste, and in Dalmatia. That 
of Zara, in Dalmatia, is considered the best. All the 
fruit employed in making the Dalmatian maraschino 
is cultivated within twenty miles of this city, at the 
foot of the mountain Clyssa, between Spalatro and Al- 
missa, on the side of a hill planted with vines. The 
chief difference between the preparation of this liqueur 
and kirschwasser consists in mixing the mass of bruised 
cherries with honey; and honey or fine sugar is added 
to the spirit after it is distilled. The genui-ne maras- 
chino is as difficult to be met with as genuine Tokay ; 
the greater part of that which is Bold as such being no- 
thing more than kirschwasser mixed with water and 
honey, or water and sugar. The marasca cherry has 
been cultivated in France with a view to the manufac- 
tory of this liqueur in that country ; and it has been 
said that it may be made just as good from the com- 
mon wild black cherry. It is also said that in Dal- 
matia the leaves of the tree are made use of in order 
to give the peculiar aroma which is so much esteemed 
in the maraschino ; and that this perfume may be in- 
creased to any extent desired, by mixing the leaves of 
the cerasus mahedeb, the perfumed cherry, with the 
fruit of the marasca, or even the common gean (black 
cherry) before distillation." 



Labour. — An acre of land that bears here twenty bushels of 
wheat, another in America which, with the same husbandry, 
would do the like, are, without doubt, of the same natural in- 
trinsic value (utility). But yet, the benefit that mankind 
receives from the one in a year is worth uve pounds, and from 
the other possibly not worth a penny, if all the profit an Indian 
received from it were to be valued and sold here; at least, I 
may truly say, not T^'h. Tis labour, then, which puts the 
greatest port of value upon land, without which it would scarcely 
be worth anything. Tis to that we owe the greatest part of all 
its useful products; for all that the straw, bran, bread, of that 
acre of wheat is more worth than ihe product of an acre of as 
good land which lies waste, is all the effect of labour. For 'tis 
not barely the ploughman's pains, the reapers and thresher's 
toil, and the baker's sweat that are to be counted into the bread 
we eat ; the labour of those who broke the oxen, who digged and 
wrought the iron and stones, who felled and framed the timber 
about the plough, mill, oven, or any other utensils, which are a 
vast number, requisite to this corn, from its being seed to be 
sown to its being made bread, must all be charged on the 
account of labour and received as an effect of that : nature and 
the earth furnishing only the most worthless materials as in 
themselves. Twould be a strange catalogue of things that in- 
dustry provided and made use of about every loaf of bread, be- 
fore it came to our use, if we could trace them. Iron, wood, 
leather, barks, timber, stone, bricks, coals, lime, cloth, dyeing, 
drugs, pitch, tar, masts, ropes, and all the materials made use of 
in the ship that brought away the commodities made use of by 
any of the workmen to any part of the work ; all which 'twould 
be almost impossible, at least too long, to reckon up. — Lock* on 
Civil Government. 



The Jungle. — The term jungle is very ill-uudtrstood by Euro- 
pean readers, who generally associate it with uninhabited forest* 
and almost impenetrable thickets; whereas all the desert and 
uncultivated parts of India, whether covered with wood or 
merely suffered to tun waste, are styled jungles; and jungle- 
tvaUah is a term indiscriminately applied to a wild cat or to a 
gentleman who has l>een quartered for a considerable period iu 
some desolate part of the country. Persons who are attached to 
very small stations in remote places, or who reside in solitary 
houses surrounded only by the habitations of the natives, are said 
to be living iu the jungles. — Mi*$ Kobe/it's Scenes in Hiwiottan, 



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[Group of Crow, Sioux, and Pawnee Indians, iu the Costumes of their Tribes, reclining in front of a Crow Wigwam.] 



VILLAGES OF NORTH AMERICAN INDIANS. 

The above cut is from an original drawing by Mr. 
CatHn, a native of the United States, who has proba- 
bly seen more of the native tribes of North America 
than any other white man. His very interesting 
North American Museum, which was recently exhi- 
bited in London, was collected during an intercourse 
of upwards of seven years with nearly fifty different 
tribes. A more complete view of the life and habits 
of a people was never before presented to the eye. We 
have already (Nos. 181 and 183) given an account of 
the general state of the native tribes of America when 
the country was first settled by Europeans, and have 
noticed the present circumstances of some of the 
tribes. Nothing apparently can arrest the destruction 
of uncivilized races of men when their territory is in- 
vaded by the civilized. The ploughman and the hun- 
ter have interests so different, that either the one or 
the other must prevail ; and all experience has shown 
that when the cultivator has once taken his stand, there 
he will maintain his conquest over the soil. Mr. Cat- 
Hn informs us that out of the 400,000 red men in North 
America three-fourths are dependent for food on the 
herds of buffalo on the western side of the Alleghanies, 
and he expresses an opinion that in eight or ten years 
these animals will have become so scarce that it will 
be difficult for the tribes to find the means of subsist- 
ence. Indeed so various are the uses of the buffalo to 
the Indians, that any great diminution in the number of 
these animals must have considerable effect upon their 
habits, and render it necessary for them to devise new 
means of supplying many of their wants. Mr. Catlin 
says : — " The robes of the animals are worn by the 
Indians, instead of blankets; their skins, when tanned, 
are used as coverings for their lodges and for their beds ; 
undressed, they are used for constructing canoes, for 
saddles, bridles, halters, lassos, and thongs. The horns 
are shaped into ladles and spoons ; the brains are used 
for dressing the skins ; their bones are used for saddle- 



trees, for war-clubs, and scrapers for graining the 
robes. Their sinews are used for strings and backs to 
their bows, for thread to string their beads and sew 
their dresses. The feet of the animals are boiled, with 
their hoofs, for glue, with which they fasten their 
arrow-points and use for various purposes. The hair 
from the head and shoulders, which is long, is twisted 
and braided into halters, and the tail is used for a fly- 
brush." 

The Oneidas, Irqquois, Senecas, and Onondagas, 
who inhabited that portion of the continent which is 
now covered with cities and thriving settlements, are 
now little more than historical names, as these power- 
ful tribes have disappeared. Civilization swept them 
away, because it communicated to them only its vices 
and diseases. Even within the last six years a very 
interesting tribe, the Mandans, has become extinct 
through the ravages of the small-pox. When Mr. Cat- 
lin visited them they had two villages about two miles 
from each other, containing about one thousand souls 
each. When the disease was first introduced among 
them, the Mandans were surrounded by several war- 
parties of the Sioux, and they were therefore confined 
closely to their villages. The disorder was so malig- 
nant that many died a few hours after being attacked. 
The accounts given to Mr. Catlin state, that so slight 
were the hopes of the poor people when once attacked, 
that " nearly half of them destroyed themselves with 
their knives or guns, or by leaping head-foremost from 
a thirty-foot ledge of rocks in front of their village." 
The chief, a man who possessed in an eminent degree 
all the virtues of the savage, recovered from the attack. 
" He sat in his wipwam and watched every one of his 
family die about him, his wives and his little children ; 
when he walked round the village and went over the 
final destruction of his tribe, — his warriors all laid low. 
Returning to his lodge, he laid his family in a pile and 
covered them with several robes; and, wrapping 
one round himself, went out upon a hill at a little dis- 
tance, where he remained several days, determined to 



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starve himself to death. Here he remained till the 
sixth day, when he had just strength enough to creep 
back to his village and enter his own wigwam. Then 
lying down by the side of his family, he perished of 
hunger, on the ninth day after he had first left it." 

To return, however, to the subject of the cut. "The 
Crows, " Mr. Catlin says, " make the most beautiful 
lodges of any of the North American tribes." The ex- 
terior consists of buffalo hides sewed together, and 
sometimes dressed as white as linen. They are pic- 
turesquely ornamented with porcupine quills, fringed 
with scalp-locks, and gaily painted. Perhaps there is on 
one side a picture of the Great Spirit and on the op- 
posite side one of the Evil Spirit. In some as many as 
forty men can dine, and the height of those of the 
better sort is twenty-five feet. It is supported by about 
thirty poles of pine-wood. The Sioux construct their 
lodges in a similar manner. The manner in which the 
wigwams of a whole village, consisting perhaps of six 
hundred habitations, are simultaneously struck is a 
very singular scene. The chief sends his runners or 
criers through the village to give a notice of his inten- 
tion to march in a few hours, and the hour fixed upon. 
I n the meantime preparations are making, and as soon 
as the lodge of the chief is seen flapping in the wind, 
from some of the poles having been taken down, the 
example is followed instantly. In a few moments the 
chief s lodge is levelled with the ground, and imme- 
diately all the other wigwams are struck. The horses 
and dogs are then loaded in the following manner : — 
" The poles of a lodge are divided into two bundles, 
and the small ends of each are fastened upon the 
shoulders of a horse, leaving the butt ends to drag on 
the ground on cither side. Just behind the horse a 
brace or pole is tied across, which keeps the poles in 
their proper places. The lodge or tent, which is rolled 
up, and also numerous other articles of household and 
domestic furniture, are placed on the poles behind 
the horse and upon his Dack, and on the top of all 
two, three, and even sometimes four women and chil- 
dren. Each one of these horses has a conductress, who 
sometimes walks before and leads him with a tremen- 
dous pack upon her back. In this way five or six hun- 
dred wigwams, with all their furniture, may be seen 
drawn out for miles, creeping over the grass-covered 
plain ; and three times that number of men, on good 
horses, strolling in front or on the flank, and in some 
tribes in the rear. At least five times that number of 
dogs fall into the rank, and follow in the train and 
company of the women ; and every cur of them who is 
large enough, and not too cunning to be enslaved, is 
encumbered with a sort of sledge on which he drags his 
load — a part of the household goods and furniture of 
the lodge to which he belongs." 

One of the Mandan villages which Mr. Catlin visited 
was admirably selected on an angle of land forty or 
fifty feet above the bed of a river, so that the base of 
the angle towards the town was the only part requiring 
protection, the two sides being flanked by the river, 
with its banks of nearly solid rock. The base was de- 
fended by a stockade of timbers of a foot or more in 
diameter, and eighteen feet high, at sufficient distances 
to admit of the defenders discharging their weapons 
between them. The ditch, of three or four feet in 
depth, was on the inward side of the village. The 
lodges were closely grouped together, with just room 
enough to walk or ride between them. They were all 
of a circular form, and from forty to sixty feet in dia- 
meter, and within were neat and comfortable. The 
walls were firmly constructed with timbers of eight or 
nine inches in diameter, and six feet high, standing 
closely together, and supported on the outside by an 
embankment of mud. Then resting on these timbers 
were as many more, each about twenty-five feet in 



height, which were inclined at an angle of forty-five 
degrees, leaving an aperture at the apex of three or 
four feet wide for a chimney and a skylight. The 
roof is supported by timbers in the interior of the 
lodge. Outside, the roof is covered with a mat of 
willow boughs of half a foot or more in thickness, on 
which earth is spread to the depth of two or three feet, 
which is covered with a clay that soon hardens and 
becomes impervious to water. The top of the lodge is 
the grand lounge of the whole family in pleasant 
weather. But only an eye-witness can describe the 
scenes which an Indian village presents. Mr. Catlin, 
speaking of this Mandan village, says — "The groups of 
lodges around me present a very curious appearance. 
On the tops are to be seen groups standing and re- 
clining ; stern warriors, like statues, standing in dig- 
nified groups, wrapped in their painted robes, with 
their heads aecked and plumed witn quills of the war- 
eagle, extending their long arms to the east or the west, 
to the Bcenes of their battles, which they are recounting 
over to each other. In another direction are wooing 
lovers, the swain playing on his simple lute. On other 
lodges, and beyond them, groups are engaged in games 
of the * mocassin ' or the ' platter/ Some are to be 
seen manufacturing robes and dresses, and others, 
fatigued with amusements or occupations, have 
stretched their limbs to enjoy the luxury of sleep 
while basking in the sun. Besides the groups of the 
living, there are on the roofs of the lodges buffaloes' 
skulls, skin canoes, pots and pottery, sledges; and, 
suspended on poles, erected some twenty feet above 
the doors of their wigwams, are displayed in a pleasant 
day the scalps of warriors preserved as trophies. In 
other parts are raised on poles the warriors' pure and 
whitened shields and quivers, with medicine-bags 
attached ; and here and there a sacrifice of red cloth 
or other costly stuff offered up to the Great Spirit over 
the door of some benignant chief." Contiguous to the 
village are a hundred scaffolds, each consisting of four 
upright posts, on which their dead arc placed in their 
best costume. 

The Comanchees make their wigwams of long prairie- 
grass thatched over poles, which are fastened in the 
ground and bent in at the top, giving them from a dis- 
tance the appearance of bee-hives. Where the buffaloes 
are numerous, skins are the materials employed ; and 
in all cases the difference of style or material is the re- 
sult of natural causes, just as formerly in the woodland 
parts of England timber dwellings prevailed, while in 
the champaign other materials were used ; and as the 
traveller m a long day's journey will pass through dis- 
tricts where the cottages (the truest criterion) are in 
one tract thatched, in the next perhaps covered with 
tiles, in another with blue slate, and in a fourth with a 
slate of quite another kind. 



MONEY-TOKENS AND SIEGE-PIECES. 

The real value of money, considered merely as a repre- 
sentative of all other marketable values, involves con- 
siderations of rriuch difficulty in reference to certain 
points in political economy, principally from the pre- 
valence of an idea that money and wealth are the same 
thing — that money is the object which all desire, instead 
of merely the means for obtaining that object. Without 
touching on these nice and complicated inquiries, how- 
ever, there are a few details which may serve to illus- 
trate the value of money, simply as a medium of ex- 
change, by showing the inconvenience resulting from 
a deficiency of it, even when poverty is not the cause 
of this deficiency. 

So long as we have metallic coins varying in value 
from one pound to one farthing, we can regulate the 
quantities of the commodities purchased with great 



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nicety, by paying in coins of greater or less value. But 
if t lie coins issued by the government were of but few 
denominations— if, for example, there were none of 
lower value than a shilling, we should soon find retail 
trade thrown into the utmost confusion, and indeed 
almost annihilated, even if there were an ample supply 
of larger coins ; because, if a purchaser had no com so 
small in value as the quantity of the article which he 
wished to purchase, he would have to buy on credit, 
or purchase more than he wanted, or arrange with 
some third party to make joint purchases. The state 
of things in Ireland at the commencement of George 
the Second's reijp will illustrate this point. At that 
period the scarcity of silver coins was so great, that 
those who employed workmen of any kind continued 
to employ them until their wages amounted to a double 
pistole or a inoidore (which were the gold coins most 
prevalent at that time in Ireland). These coins were 
paid to a body of workmen, who then adjourned to an 
alehouse or a brandy-shop, and divided the money 
amongst themselves as they best could. As it was 
impossible to effect this division without silver, they 
had to pay a premium, amounting to tenpence or a 
shilling, for changing one of the gold coins for silver, 
besides spending another portion of their money at the 
alehouse. 

Whenever such a state of things occurs, the shop- 
keepers and manufacturers have always been desirous 
of issuing money-tokens, that is, pieces of copper or of 
silver, stamped with some device, and exchangeable at 
their shops as fractional parts of larger coins, so as to 
serve all the purposes of money. It is always deemed 
dangerous to allow the privilege of coinage to pass out 
of the hands of the government ; and the prevalence of 
this custom shows how annoying a deficiency of small 
coinage is felt to be. 

In the reign of Henry VIII. private tokens were 
used to supply the want of silver coins ; and the Earl 
of Surrey, Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, was obliged to 
sue to be recalled on account of the obstruction to his 
proceedings by reason of the deficiency of circulating 
medium. By the reign of Elizabeth, the use of private 
tokens for money, which were stamped by inferior 
tradesmen, such as grocers, vintners, chandlers, and 
bakers, had grown to such an extent as to be a subject 
of frequent complaint. They were made of lead, tin, 
latten (a mixed metal of copper and zinc), and even of 
leather. Of these coarse materials were formed farth- 
ings and halfpence, which brought discredit on the 
genera] coinage of the country, and at the same time 
inflicted a loss on the poor, since these tokens could 
only be received at the shop from whence they had 
been first issued. It seemed to be a deficiency in the 
smaller coins, such as halfpence and farthings, that led 
to the issue of these tokens ; and proposals were made 
to the government to strike legal farthings.* It was 
first suggested to form them of mixed silver and copper 
— then of silver only— then of copper only; and an 
order was issued prohibiting the circulation of trades- 
men's tokens. But it does not appear that the plans 
of the government were carried out, for no farthings 
were issued. A sort of medium measure was however 
adopted, whereby important cities or corporations were 
allowed to issue tokens, although individuals could not. 
Thus, the queen granted a licence to the city of Bristol 
to coin tokens, which were made of copper, with a 
ship on one side, and C B on the other. They were 
current in and near that city, for the purchase of small 
articles. 

By the time of James the First the inconvenience 
resulting from a deficiency of small coinage was again 
much felt. Private traders, finding themselves unable 
to carry on their business without smaller money than 
the legal coins, were driven by necessity to provide 



something to supply the deficiency ; and, accordingly, 
they adopted the practice of coining farthing-tokens in 
lead. In 1613 a proclamation was issued ordering the 
cessation of this custom. It commenced with an 
acknowledgment, that " in times past some toleration 
had existed in the realm of tokens of lead, commonly 
known by the name of farthing-tokens, to pass between 
vintners, tapsters, chandlers, bakers, and other like 
tradesmen, and their customers ; whereby such small 
portions and quantities of things vendible, as the 
necessity and use, especially of the poorer sort of 
people, oftentimes required, might be conveniently 
bought and sold, without enforcement to buy more 
ware than would serve for their use and occasion." 
But it was objected, that as these tokens had not 
general currency throughout the country, poor pur- 
chasers were, to a great extent, at the mercy of the 
shopkeepers. It was estimated that there were in 
London three thousand persons who issued leaden farth- 
ing-tokens, to the average amount of 5/. a year each. 
To remedy the evil, the king granted a licence to Lord 
Harrington, for three years, to coin copper farthings 
for general use throughout the kingdom, it being 
optional to the public to make use of these coins or 
not The people entertained some distrust of these 
new farthings, and took them very slowly, although 
facilities were offered for exchanging silver for farth- 
ings in different parts of England. There was a profit 
to be gained by Lord Harrington by the issue of the 
farthings, and this probably tended to create a dislike 
to the scheme. In 1616 it was again found that the 
tradesmen issued their own tokens, and great com- 
plaints and frequent proclamations were made. 

In the reign of Charles the Second, various persons, 
in nearly all the cities and towns throughout Ireland, 
were in the habit of striking brass and copper tokens 
in great number, with such stamps as they pleased ; 
these they vended for a penny each in exchange, under 
pretence that, when they were called in or decried, the 
persons who uttered them would receive them back 
again at the rates for which they had been issued. So 
gross was the fraud thus effected, that the issuers 
received nearly twenty shillings in good silver coin 
for as many tokens as did not cost them more than 
twenty pence; and before the time came for these 
tokens to be exchanged, the issuers kept out of the 
way, and the poor people suffered the loss. A procla- 
mation was therefore issued, prohibiting the making 
of. such tokens, or the circulation of them, if made. 
Both in England and in Ireland, however, there was 
so much profit to be made in various ways by the issue 
of money-tokens, that the government experienced the 
utmost difficulty in suppressing the system. A farth- 
ing-office was established in London, where facilities 
were afforded for obtaining legal farthings ; and severe 
punishments were threatened to. those who used tokens* 
so that at length, as the people generally had no reason 
to distrust legal farthings if issued by the government 
in a proper manner, the issuers gradually relinquished 
a system which had its origin in convenience, and was 
kept up afterwards by fraud. 

But in Ireland the march of improvement was, as it 
has always been, more tardy. The government, instead 
of issuing halfpence and farthings, gave a patent for so 
doing to Sir Thomas Armstrong, who made it a source 
of profit; he was authorized to enter any house or any 
ship in search of counterfeit coins ; and iiis coins were 
declared a legal tender, and bound to be taken to the 
value of five shillings in every hundred pounds. This 
system appears to have continued for some time, and 
to have been made a source of patronage. In the time 
of George II., as we have before observed, silver was 
so scarce in Ireland as to lead to great losses on the 
part of the working men: in many cases they really 



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had not silver or copper to purchase their small wares, 
although they might nave a gold coin, and were forced 
to pay an extra price for their commodities as a means of 
obtaining change. The smaller coins of copper were also 
scarce ; and manufacturers were often obliged to pay 
their men with tallies, or tokens, in card, signed upon 
the back, to be afterwards exchanged for money ; while 
at the same time counterfeit coins, called raps, were in 
circulation, made of such bad metal that wiiat passed 
for a halfpenny was not worth half a farthing. A 
Mr. Wood received a patent for coining halfpence and 
farthings for fourteen years, by which it was estimated 
that he would clear about 6000/. a year. This plan was 
attacked most fiercely by Dean Swift, even from the 
pulpit, and the passions of the people became thereby 
so roused, that, after many investigations and pro- 
clamations, the government induced Mr. Wood to 
abandon his patent altogether. The scarcity of small 
change still continued ; and the issue of copper and 
silver tokens for small sums took place extensively. 
Mr. Maculla, a brazier of Dublin, suggested a plan 
for issuing tokens for the whole kingdom ; Dean Swift 
(who was then extremely popular in Ireland) promul- 
gated another ; and all, as it would appear, because 
the government would not allow to Ireland the privi- 
lege of having a mint of her own. 

Without going farther into details, it may be suf- 
ficient to have thus explained the general causes which 
led to the issuing of money-tokens. It has always been 
occasioned by a deficient supply of small coins, or else 
by a dislike on the part of the people to the circum- 
stances under which coins have been issued. During 
the last war, when so much specie was drained from 
the kingdom in various ways, tradesmen's tokens were 
issued in a great many English towns, each having 
currency withih a very limited circle ; but since that 
period the coinages have been sufficiently frequent to 
Keep up a supply of small change ; and thus the same 
coin is equally current in every part of the kingdom, 
one of the great advantages attending a national cur- 
rency. 

Siege-pieces are only another name for a particular 
kind of money-token, which was prevalent during the 
troubles of the Commonwealth. When the king was 
driven about from town to town, and besieged in one 
castle after another, his treasury soon became ex- 
hausted, and his faithful adherents gave up their gold 
and silver plate, to be made into substitutes for coin. 
These small pieces were called siege-pieces, or money 
of necessity, and were formed with a rudeness corre- 
sponding with the haste in which they were issued. 
They were in many cases simply rude masses of plate, 
clipped off, stamped with some hastily-formed device, 
and even retaining in certain instances the mouldings 
of the salvers from which they had been cut. Some of 
these pieces are stamped with the name of the castle 
wherein they were struck, but there are various others 
which only bear an imperfect representation of the 
place. The frequent removals of the king to various 
parts of the kingdom obliged him to establish several 
mints, at the cities and towns of London, York, Oxford, 
Worcester, Edinburgh, Dublin, Exeter, Cork, Chester, 
Carlisle, Aberystwith, Colchester, Newark, Pontefract, 
Shrewsbury, Scarborough, and other places. 

It was about the year 1642 that oris system com- 
menced, when Charles I., by seizing a quantity of 
bullion which had been deposited in the Mint by some 
Spanish merchants, and by a debasement of the Bilver 
coin to one-fourth of its value, had hastened the arrival 
of his own troubles and difficulties. In January of 
that year the royal family were so straitened for 
money, that the queen was obliged to coin or sell her 
household plate for the supply of common necessaries. 
When the breach between tne king and the parliament 



became irreconcilable, both parties endeavoured to 
secure money for carrying on the contest. The par- 
liament, besides eight per cent, for all money sent into 
them, offered to receive family plate at its full value, 
with an additional one shilling per ounce for the work- 
manship that had been bestowed on the articles ; and 
at the same time made an ordinance for assessing all 
those who should not contribute according to their 
ability. The king sent forth a counter-proclamation, 
calling on his subjects to assist him, and threatening 
with the kingly power all those who sent in plate to 
the parliament. Whether it was that the parliament 
offered high terms, or that the general exasperation 
against the king was great, the quantity of plate sent 
in was immense, and gave rise to many satirical 
remarks, of which the following formed part of a 
poem published at the time : — 

" And now, my Lord, since you have London left, 
Where merchant*' wives dine cheap, and as cheap sup, 
Where fools themselves have of their plate bereft, 
And sigh and drink in the coarse pewter cup, 
Where's not a silver spoon left, not that given then 
When the (irst cockney was made Christian : 
No, not a bodkin, pincase j all they send, 
Or carry all, whatever thr y can hap on, 
E'en to the pretty picktooth, whose each end 
Oft purged the relics of continual capon. 
Nothing must stay behind, nothing must tarry, 
No, not the ring by which dear Joan took Harry/' 

Meanwhile the universities and many private indi- 
viduals came forwpid to assist the king with plate. 
The heads of most of the colleges sent him word that 
they had a good deal of plate which was at his service. 
The plate was sent to the king at Nottingham, and he 
sent secret orders to the officers of the Mint to repair 
thither to coin the plate ; but the parliament forestalled 
him, and forbade the officers to obey him ; so that the 
king had to use the plate in small pieces, or to rudely 
coin it into any form most convenient. After the 
battle of Edge Hill, the colleges sent to the king 
nearly all their remaining plate, for a similar purpose. 
A proclamation was issued by the king's government 
in Ireland, calling on the inhabitants of Dublin to send 
in plate at a certain rate per ounce ; this they did to a 
considerable extent, and the plate so produced was 
hastily formed into rude coins, stamped either with 
the current value or with the weight. Repeated in- 
stances are recorded as having occurred about that 
period, of the English nobility having given up their 
family plate to the king ; and when this occurred at 
the times of his greatest difficulty, he had neither time 
nor convenience for converting it into coined money, 
and therefore had it merely cut into pieces, and rudely 
stamped into what obtained the name of siege-pieces. 

Log-hevsa in Kami chat ka. — A jourta of this sort is generally 
a frame of timber put into a square hole, four or five feet deep; 
and within the frame a quantity of states are 6et close together, 
inclining a little inwards, and the eaith thrown against them. 
The stakes are left round on the outside, but hewed within, and 
the top is framed over in the same manner, and is arched and 
supported by stanchions. In the centre of the roof is a square 
hole that serves the double purpose of a door and a chimney, the 
inhabitants passing in or out by means of a piece of timber 
placed against the edge of the hole, with notches cut in it to 
receive die feet — a miserable substitute for a ladder. The top 
and sides are covered without with a quantity of earth, and 
sodded. At one end there is a large bole with a stop|>er to it, 
which is opened when the oven is heating, to force the smoke out 
at the door. When once heated, and the stopper closed, jour (as 
are warmer than most woodeu houses, and were it not for the 
smoke, that is excessive, they would be comfortable winter dwell- 
ings. They are made of various sizes and descriptions; and 
some of them that have floors are really decent, and bear some- 
thing the appearance of a house under ground. — DobcU's Travel* 
in Kamtchatka and Siberia. 



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[fortress of Gwalior.] 



GWALIOR, OR GUALIOR. 



The city and fortress of Gwalior, in Hindustan, are 
about seventy-fite miles south from the city of Agra, 
in 26° 18' N. lat.. 78° 5' E. long. 

The city of Gwalior, which stands at the foot of the 
lofty mass of rock on which the fortress of Gwalior is 
situated, is the capital of the Gwalior state, and the 
court residence of the Maharaja Jyajee Rao Sindia, the 
sovereign of that state. The city is not walled, but at 
the entrances of the parallel streets, which run up to 
the side of the rocky hill, there are stone gateways, 
with strong gates, sufficient to afford a short means of 
defence against an irregular attack. The houses are 
built with stone, of which the neighbourhood affords 
an abundant supply. The general appearance of the 
streets, however, is somewhat mean, and the public 
buildings are not distinguished for architectural 
beauty. Trees are intermixed among the houses and 
minarets, as is usual in Indian towns. The number 
of inhabitants is about thirty thousand. 

The fortress of Gwalior is high above the city, on 
the summit of the hill of rock at the base of which 
the city stands. The rock rises precipitously from the 

Elain, and is perfectly isolated, but an amphitheatre of 
ills, at the distance of from one to three miles, partly 
surrounds it. The rock is long, narrow, and lofty. 
The length at the bottom is above three miles, at the 
top nearly two miles ; the width at the top is irregular, 
but seldom exceeds three hundred yards. The entire 
height is about three hundred and fifty feet, and the 
whole rock is precipitous, but the upper part, which 
is about two hundred feet high, is nearly perpendicu- 
lar, for the most part by nature, but partly by scarping 
the rock. The area at the top is nearly level, and is 
covered with numerous buildings and with cultivated 
ground. There are wells and reservoirs for water, 
and all things needful to enable the garrison to sustain 
a siege. The only means of access to the fortress is 
by steps up the side of the rock ; the exterior part of 
the steps is defended by a wall and bastions, and the 
ascent is further protected by stone gateways. A 
stone parapet extends round the brow of the rock on 
every side. 
Of ail the hill fortresses of India that of Gwalior is 



the largest, the strongest, and the most magnificent. 
On looking up from the city at the precipitous mass 
and the defences which crown the brow of the rock, 
the appearance is described as of surpassing gran- 
deur. Before the introduction of European warfare 
the fortress was deemed impregnable ; and even now, 
with all the appliances of shells and rockets and en- 
gineering skill, the conquest would be difficult, and 
would probably require much time. Notwithstand- 
ing its strength, however, the fortress has been several 
times taken and re-taken by the Mohammedans and 
the Hindoos, sometimes by slow siege, at other times 
by treachery, by corruption of the garrison, and simi- 
lar means. 

In 1780 the fortress of Gwalior was taken from the 
Mahrattas, who then held it, by Colonel Popham, or 
rather, by Major Bruce and the escalading party whom 
he led. The successful result of the enterprise was as 
extraordinary as the spirit of romantic daring with 
which it was executed. Colonel Popham was en- 
camped at Ryepoor, eight miles from Gwalior. He 
was informed by the Rana of Gohud, from whom the 
fortress had been taken by the Mahrattas, that some ban- 
ditti who infested the neighbourhood had once climbed 
the rock and got into the fortress. He engaged some of 
them to make the attempt again ; they again succeeded, 
and ascertained that the guard, after going the rounds, 
were accustomed to lie down to sleep. Major William 
Bruce, the brother of Bruce the Abyssinian traveller, 
then undertook to scale the walls of the fortress with 
a party of sepoy grenadiers. Colonel Popham had 
ladders both of wood and rope made with the utmost 
secrecy, and shoes of woollen lined with cotton for 
the scaling-party, to make the ascent as noiseless as 
possible. 

At eleven o'clock on the night of the 3rd of August, 
1780, Major Bruce set forward with Lieutenant 
Cameron, the engineer, and twenty sepoy grenadiers, 
and, marching by unfrequented ways, they reached 
Gwalior a little before daybreak. Colonel Popham 
followed with two battalions. Bruce, on arriving at 
the foot of the rock, saw lights, and heard the guards 
cough, which was the Mahratta mode of signifying 
"All's well." When the lights disappeared the 
wooden ladders were placed, and one of the robbers, 



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having climbed over the wall, returned with the wel- 
come news that the guards had laid down to sleep. 
Bruce, Cameron, and the sepoys now mounted from 
crag to crag by means of the wooden ladders ; and 
Cameron having gone up and fastened the rope-ladders 
to the battlements, Bruce and the sepoys ascended, got 
over the wall without being discovered, and squatted 
down behind it Three of the sepoys, however, were so 
inconsiderate as to fire on three of the garrison who 
were lying near them. The three men were shot dead ; 
the noise alarmed the garrison, and they rushed to the 
spot in great numbers, but as they were ignorant of 
the force of the assailing party, they were kept in 
check by the brisk fire of the sepoys till Popham him- 
self got up with a reinforcement. The garrison then 
retreated to the inner buildings, and, after discharging 
a few rockets, fled precipitately through the gate; 
while the principal officers, thus deserted, assembled 
in one of the houses, and hung out a white flag. 
Popham immediately sent an officer with assurances of 
quarter and protection ; and thus, in about two hours, 
this apparently impregnable fortress was taken by a 
small escalading party of British and sepoys, without 
the loss of a single man, and with only twenty wounded. 

Gwalior was formerly the capital of the small state 
of Gohud, but during the contentions between the 
Mogul government and the Mahrattas the Rana of 
Gohud was rarely allowed the use of his own city and 
fortress, and was generally compelled to pay tribute 
to one or the other. After the British obtained posses- 
sion of it by Colonel Popham's escalade, it was given 
up to the liana of Gohud, on certain conditions of re- 
muneration for our protection ; but failing to fulfil 
those conditions, the Rana was left to defend himself 
against the Mahrattas as well as he could. Madajee 
Sindia obtained possession of the fortress after a siege 
of many months, and then only by corrupting a part of 
the garrison. The territory of Gohud, with its capital 
ancj fortress, was in the possession of Holkar when 
the Mahratta war broke out in 1803. After his 
final subjugation, the British authorities, by the treaty 
of Muttra, November 23, 1805, transferred Gohud 
and its capital to Dowlut Rao Sindia, in whose family 
they still remain, forming a portion of the state of 
Gwalior, whose sovereign is styled Maharaja (great 
prince) of Gwalior. 

The Mahratta family of Sindia (or Scindia) is of 
comparatively modern origin. Ranojee Sindia, the 
first who distinguished himself, was a potail, or head- 
man of a Hindoo village, when he was appointed by 
the Paishwa Badjee Rao to the humble office of his 
slipper-bearer. He was a shrewd and enterprising 
man, and in 1743 had risen to the highest rank of 
Mahratta chiefs, and had obtained the hereditary 
government of about one half of the large province of 
Malwa. After his death, Madajee Sindia, one of his 
sons, became the most powerful of the Mahratta chiefs 
— so powerful, indeed, that he became, to use the 
words of Sir John Malcolm, •• the actual sovereign of 
Hindustan from the Sutleje to Agra, the conqueror of 
the princes of Rajpootana, the commander of an army 
composed of sixteen battalions of regular infantry, 
five hundred pieces of cannon, and one hundred thou- 
sand horse, the possessor of two-thirds of Malwa and 
some of the finest provinces in the Deccan." Madaiee 
Sindia died in 1794, and, leaving no sons, was succeeded 
by Dowlut Rao Sindia, who was the grandson of 
Tukajee Sindia, Madajcc's brother. In the Mahratta 
war which broke out in 1S03, Dowlut Rao Sindia and 
the Rajah of Berar were the chief princes implicated ; 
and after a series of brilliant actions, by Lord Lake in 
Upper India and by Major - General Wellesley in 
Central India, the Mahratta forces were completely 
defeated, and Sindia was compelled to cede territory 



to the amount of fifty thousand square miles, which is 
almost as much as the area of England, exclusive of 
Wales. By a treaty of alliance, February 27, 1804, 
Dowlut Rao Sindia engaged to receive a British 
auxiliary force in those dominions which he was 
allowed to retain, which were still of great extent. 
The territory of Gohud "was afterwards ceded to him, 
as we have before stated. He kept aloof from the 
Mahratta war of 1818, and thus preserved his terri- 
tories. He died on March 21, 1827. Janko Rao 
Sindia was elected by the widow as successor to her 
late husband. He died last year, and his widow has 
elected Jyajee Rao Sindia, who was the nearest relative 
of Janko Rao, and is now the reigning Maharaja of 
Gwalior. Being yet too young to act for himself, 
Mama Sahib was appointed regent by the widow (the 
Maharanee, or Manabaee, as she is styled), with the 
concurrence of the British authorities; but the regent 
was driven away, and the Dada Khasgee Walla, *• rich 
and powerful Brahmin, was appointed in his p«ace. 
This proceeding, hostile to British interests and op- 
posed to British superintendence, led to the two late 
sanguinary battles at Maharajpoor and Punniah. 



PLANTATIONS ON DRIFTING SANDS. 

The attention of agriculturists has been frequently 
directed to the best mode of fixing the layers of drift- 
ing sand which sometimes occur in districts bordering 
on the sea, or exposed to wind from particular quar- 
ters. If these sandy snots were merely barren and 
still, doing neither gooa nor harm, the matter would 
have been of less importance ; but shifting sands are 
liable from their very nature to bring great destruc- 
tion to neighbouring towns and villages. 

Suffolk and Norfolk have been at different times 
subject to sand-floods of this description from sand- 
hills lying not far from the coast. The general pro- 
gress of these floods has been somewhat as follows 
Violent winds break through the turf that covers these 
hills, and then the sand, lying loose and naked, is soon 
carried down upon the plains, where it covers and 
buries the grass, and in a very little time destroys the 
light turf; then, mixing itself with the sand under- 
neath, it becomes one bed of dry matter. A large body 
of sand being thus got together, nothing stops its pro- 
gress, but at every storm it rolls over more and more 
ground ; so that in a few yeara it extends itself to a 
vast distance, especially wnere the ground over which 
it passes is of the same sandy nature, and only covered 
with a thin turf. In some parts of Suffolk the ground 
encourages this change so greatly, that a bed of sand 
thus loosened from a neighbouring hill, and covering 
only a few acres at first, will ultimately deluge a large 
area, not being arrested by rising ground or any other 
impediments. 

In the sixth volume of the ' Transactions * of the 
Royal Irish Academy is a paper by the Rev. W. Hamil- 
ton, on the effects of the westerly winds of Ireland in 
causing sands to shift, and to bury houses and villages 
beneath them. On many parts of the Irish coasts 
houses and villages have been actually dug out of sand- 
hills, each one having, like a miniature Pompeii or 
Herculaneum, been overwhelmed by an enemy which 
it could not resist. A case is mentioned in which the 
ruins of a village were to be seen in the county of Antiim, 
in 1783, the inhabitants having been all driven away 
by the gradual influx of sand. A similar instance was 
observable in the county of Donegal in 1787. In an- 
other instance Mr. Hamilton, while taking an excur- 
sion through Donegal, haa great difficulty in finding 
the house of a guide to whom he had been directed. 
14 After much search," he states, " I perceived its roof 



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just emerging from the sands. The owner told me that 
his house was not long built, and had at first a consi- 
derable tract of pasture-ground between it and the sea- 
shore; but that, of late, he was every year obliged, 
with great labour, to dig it out of the encroaching sands, 
and purposed shortly to remove it to the opposite shore 
of a lake called M ullochdearg, which lay behind the 
house, in despair of being able to maintain its present 
situation." 

The same writer describes a spot in which the bound- 
ary between two estates was only marked by a heap of 
iron scoriae amid shifting sands; the sconce pointing 
out the spot where a smith's forge had existed before 
the sands had driven away the smith and buried his 
forge. In another case an elegant mansion had become 
almost buried. This mansion was situated in the 
peninsula of Rossgull in Donegal, and had been in- 
habited by the family of the Boynes. The approach 
to the house was from a level green on the shore, 
through a succession of embattled courts and hanging 
terraces, rising one above another ; and the rear of the 
house was bounded by gardens and parks well laid 
out. Such was the house in its prime ; and Mr. 
Hamilton then notices the state in which he found it, 
after the approach of sand-floods. ,f At present every 
object in this place presents to view peculiar charac- 
ters of desolation. The gardens are totally denuded 
of trees and shrubs by the fury of the western winds ; 
their walls, unable to sustain the mass of overbearing 
sands, have bent before the accumulated pressure, and, 
overthrown in numberless places, have given free pas- 
sage to this restless enemy of all fertility. The courts, 
the flights of steps, the terraces, are all involved in 
equal ruin, and their limits only discoverable by tops 
ot embattled walls, visible amid hills of sand. The 
mansion itself, yielding to the unconquerable fury of the 
tempest, approaches fast to destruction. The freighted 
whirlwind, howling through every avenue and crevice, 
bears incessantly along its drifted burden, which has 
already filled the lower apartments of the building, and 
begins now to rise above the once elevated thresholds. 
Fields, fences, villages, involved in common deso- 
lation, are reduced to one undistinguishable scene 
of sterile uniformity ; and twelve hundred acres of 
land are said thus to have been buried, within a short 
period, in irrecoverable ruin." 

It is obvious that if any means could be devised of 
giving a fixity to the sand, whereby it would not be 
acted on by the wind, much of the evil above described 
would be avoided. One writer has suggested that a 
way of stopping the progress of the drifting sand (sup- 
posing the motion to have once commenced) would be 
by planting hedges of furze one over another : as these 
become levelled, thev will by degrees stop or divert the 
progress.; and cases have been known where the spread 
of the sand has been checked by this means after a 
rise of twenty feet had taken place. 

The drift sands of the Outer Hebrides have in some 
places been consolidated and covered w ith verdure in 
the following manner, described in the 'Quarterly 
Journal of Agriculture.* Square pieces of turf, cut 
from solid sward, are laid upon the drifting surface at 
stated intervals apart ; bearing nearer together in 
steep places, and farther apart in places of less de- 
clivity, while in very steep places they are placed close 
together. These turfs prevent the sand from drifting, 
even in the intervals between them. Mr. Macleod, of 
the island of Harris, has adopted another method, by 
which he has brought into useful, permanent pasture 
upwards of a hundred and twenty acres of useless 
drifting sand. The operation is performed in the 
month of September, by the aid of the arundo arenaria, 
or bent grass. These plants are cut about two inches 
below the surface witn a small thin-vdged spade, 



having a small handle, which a man can use in his 
right hand, at the same time taking hold of the grass 
with his left. Other persons carry these plants to the 
drifting sand, where they are planted in a hole or cut 
from eight to twelve inches deep, made with a large 
narrow-pointed spade. A handful of the arundo is put 
into eacli of these cuts, the cuts or holes being about 
a foot apart. When properly fixed in the drifting 
sand, the roots begin to grow and spread under the 
surface, in the course of a month after planting. This 
grass is relished by cattle in summer, but it is of 
greater value when preserved in the ground for win- 
tering cattle. Neither wind, rain, nor frost will de- 
stroy it, but the old grass naturally decays towards the 
latter end of spring and the beginning of summer, as 
the new crop grows. White and red clover will grow 
spontaneously among this grass in the course of a few 
years, provided it is well secured. 

The pinaster, or cluster-pine , has been used with 
great success as a tree for fixing drifting sands. This 
is a tree which seldom thrives except in a deep sand 
or sandy loam ; and hence its fitness for this purpose. 
On the estate of Westwich House, in Norfolk, a mag- 
nificent double avenue of pinasters has been formed, 
five miles in length, in a bleak situation, and in a 
sandy soil resting on a subsoil of coarse hard gravel. 
It was in France that the plan of planting this tree on 
shifting sands was adopted about the year 1789. There 
are very extensive downs or sand-hills between Dun- 
kirk and Nieuport, between Calais and Boulogne, and 
between the rivers Adour and Gironde. In the Gulf 
of Gascony the downs are composed of drifting sands, 
covering three hundred square miles. This immense 
tract has been compared to a sea, which, when agitated 
to fury by a tempest, had been suddenly fixed and 
changed to sand. Before the attempts to fix the sand, 
the district offered nothing to the eye but a monotonous 
repetition of white wavy mountains, perfectly destitute 
of vegetation. In times of violent storms of wind, the 
surface of these downs was entirely changed ; the sandy 
hills often becoming valleys, and the reverse. The 
sand, on these occasions, was often carried up into the 
interior of the country, covering cultivated fields, vil- 
lages, and even entire forests. This took place so gra- 
dually (by the sand sweeping along the surface and 
thus raising it, or falling from the air in a shower of 
particles), that nothing was destroyed ; the sand gra- 
dually rose among crops as if they were inundated 
with water ; and the herbage and the tops of trees ap- 
peared quite green and healthy, even to the moment 
of their being overwhelmed with the sand, which is so 
very fine as to resemble that used in hour-glasses. 

It was in such a district that M. Bremoutier began, 
in 1789, his attempts to fix the drifting sands by plant- 
ing pinaster-trees. The mode adopted is mainly as 
follows : — on the surface are sown seeds of the common 
broom, mingled with those of the pinaster; com- 
mencing on the side next the sea, or on that from 
which the wind generally prevails, and sowing in nar- 
row zones, in a direction at right angles to that of the 
wind ; the first sown zone being protected bv a line of 
hurdles, this zone protecting the second, the second 
the third, and so on, till the whole breadth of the 
downs is covered with plantation. From four to five 
pounds of broom-seed, and from one to two pounds of 
pinaster-seed, are sown per acre, and immediately co- 
vered with branches of pines, or of other trees, with 
the leaves on, brought from the nearest woods, these 
branches being intended to shelter and protect the 
seed, and to retain the sand. The branches are laid 
down in a regular manner in the direction of the 
wind, and overlapping one another, so as to produce a 
sort of thatching to the surface ; and, in places very 
much exposed, rods are laid across the branches, and 



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firmly hooked down. In six weeks or two months 
the broom-seeds have produced branches six inches in 
height, and which attain three or four times that height 
in the course of the first season. The pinasters do not 
rise above three or four inches the first year ; and it is 
seven or eight years before they completely overtop the 
broom, which often attains on the French downs a 
height of fifteen or eighteen feet. At the age of ten 
or twelve years, the pinasters have in a great measure 
suffocated the broom, and they are then thinned, the 
branches cut off being used for the purpose of thatch- 
ing downs not yet recovered, and the trunks and roots 
cut into pieces and burned to make tar and charcoal. 
In about twenty years the trees rise to twenty or thirty 
feet in height ; and in that stage they produce resin, 
which forms a valuable product for ten or twelve years 
longer. After this the trees are cut down, the trunks 
burned for tar and charcoal, the branches employed in 
thatching other moors, and the seeds giving birth to a 
new race of plants. 

Such is the nature of the excellent plan adopted by 
M. Bremoutier, whereby not only were the shifting 
sands fixed, but timber, charcoal, "tar, and resin were 
produced from a district before not only useless, but 
much worse than useless to the neighbouring villages. 
In 1811a commission appointed by the French govern- 
ment reported that about twelve thousand five hun- 
dred acres of downs had been covered with thriving 
plantations ; they also reported that it was found that 
a thatching or covering of any kind of vegetable 
herbage, such as straw, rushes, reeds, sea-weed, &c, 
might be used instead of branches, and was even pre- 
ferable. Another improvement, which had been tried 
and found very successful, was the substitution of 
a fence of boards for that of wattled hurdles, as more 
completely excluding the wind. The plantations thus 
created out of a sandy waste, together with others in 
the La tides of Bordeaux, and between that city and 
Bayonne, are called pignadas, and now constitute the 
principal riches of tne inhabitants, who are almost en- 
tirely supported by the preparation of resin and tar 
from the pinaster-trees raised in what were once 
sandy downs. 

RAMBLES FROM RAILWAYS. 

The River Mole. — No. II. 

After quitting Betchworth the pedestrian will take 
the path by the mill to Dorking; or he may, if he 
please, step aside a little to Deepden, where is a fine 
house with some good pictures, and around it many 
walks such as it is a pity to lose. Dorking is a long, 
neat, and quiet town, famous for its poultry, butter, 
and other good things; and if we had time, and this 
were the place to describe it, would be worth a more 
careful survey. We believe it is quite unmatched, for 
the number and variety of pleasant rambles it offers, 
by any other town within the same distance of London. 
Such walks, for instance, as those about Deepden, of 
which we have spoken ; along the top of the fine range 
of downs towards Guildford; Leith Hill, the stroll 
towards which is very agreeable, while the view from 
its summit is on a clear day a treat of no ordinary 
kind ; the vale of Mickelham, along which we shall 
wander presently ; and then there is Wotton, the birth- 
place and, for the last years of his life, the residence of 
the excellent John Evelyn, in allusion to whose ' Sylva, 
or a Discourse of Forest-Trees,' it has been said, by 
D'Israeli, «* The present navy of Great Britain has 
been constructed with the oaks which the genius of 
Evelyn planted." Nor will this appear hyperbolical, 
if we notice what he savs in the dedication of one of 
the later editions to Charles II. : — «* I need not acquaint 
your Majesty how many millions of timber-trees, be- 



sides infinite others, have been propagated and planted 
throughout your vast dominions at the instigation and 
by the sole direction of this work, because your 
Majesty has been pleased to own it publicly for my 
encouragement.*' Tne discourse was written in answer 
to certain inquiries sent by the Commissioners of the 
Navy to the lloyal Society, and was the first book 
printed by order of that Society. It is filled with 
learning, for Evelyn was enthusiastically attached to 
his subject, and had been for vears in the habit of col- 
lecting everything he met with in his reading that 
could do honour to his favourite trees. But though 
there is an air of pedantry and something of formality 
about it, the book is an agreeable one to read, and has 
not yet lost its value as a guide to the forester. Evelyn 
was a model of an English gentleman of that period, 
and though connected with the court of the profligate 
Charles II., he retained to the last uninjured the manly 
virtues of his character. His * Diary,* first published 
about twenty-five years ago, is exceedingly interesting 
as a picture of the manners of his time, and it exhibits 
his many excellencies in an unobtrusive manner. 
Though attached in no ordinary degree to a country 
life, he was active in his duties as a citizen ; indeed 
his conduct during the Great Plague might almost be 
called heroic. Upon the declaration of war with the 
Dutch, Charles appointed Evelyn a commissioner for 
taking care of the sick and wounded and prisoners 
arising therefrom. A short time before the appear- 
ance of the plague in London, Evelyn's charge had 
been removed to the Savoy ; and during that tearful 
visitation neither the entreaties of his friends nor his 
own danger could induce him to quit the scene of his 
duties. But having sent his wife and family to Wotton, 
he determined to stay himself, trusting, as he says, •« in 
the providence and goodness of God." The anxiety 
his situation must have produced was increased to a 
most painful extent by the court having neglected at 
this trying time to furnish him with the necessary 
funds to relieve the miseries of his charge. •* One 
fortnight," he says in a letter written at this time, 
" has made me feel the utmost of miseries that can 
befall a person in my station and with my affec- 
tions. To have twenty-five thousand prisoners and fif- 
teen hundred sick and wounded men to take care of, 
without one penny of money and above 2000/. indebted.*' 
" Our prisoners beg of us as a mercy to knock them on 
the head, for we have no bread to relieve the dying 
creatures. I beseech your honour let us not be re- 
puted barbarians." At another time he says he and 
Sir William D'Oily have lost all their "servants, offi- 
cers, and most necessary attendants, and have nothing 
left us to expose but our persons, which are every mo- 
ment at the mercy of a raging pestilence." He was 
in London too during the Great Fire which followed 
the pestilence, and his letters give the most vivid de- 
scription of it perhaps extant. Evelyn was the friend 
of Jeremy Taylor and of Cowley, the latter of whom 
addressed his • Garden' to him. Evelyn was greatly 
attached to gardens and gardening, and had written 
much on the subject. Cowley addresses him in that 
felicitous prose none else ever wrote so well: ** I know 
nobody that possesses more private happiness than you 
do in your garden ; and yet no man who makes his 
happiness more public by a free communication of it 
to others. All that I myself am able yet to do, is only 
to recommend to mankind the search of that felicity, 
which you instruct them how to find and to enjoy. 

" Happy art thou whom God does bless 
With the full choice of thine own happiness.*' 

Evelyn's wife was a very superior woman ; his Diary 
bears abundant testimony to her many excellencies. 
Cowley makes a pleasant allusion to her in the lines 



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[ Leathered Church.] 

succeeding those above quoted : he reminds his friend 
that in his " virtuous wile" he has "pleasures more re- 
fined and sweet ; 

" The fairesf garden in her loolcs, 
And in her mind the wisest books/* 

There is a homely companionable vein in our older 
writers, quite delightful to meet with. But we have 
talked so long of Evelyn, we cannot stay to describe 
the house. Both it and the grounds possess many 
relics of its celebrated possessor. 

Before we leave the neighbourhood of Dorking we 
must ascend its boasted eminence, Box Hill ; so named 
from the number of box-trees that grow upon it : in 
old maps it is marked White Hill. Some years ago 
the box-trees then growing upon it were nearly all cut 
down, but there is a goodly plantation of them there 
now, and they appear very flourishing. The view from 
its summit is a most extensive one, there being little to 
interrupt it in any direction. You may trace the 
course of the Mole for miles from it. Over the downs 
towards Croydon is a rich and pleasing prospect ; that 
on the south towards Sussex is more varied, and from 
the greater quantity of wood perhaps more attractive ; 
while on the south-west Dorking lies at your feet, 
stretching away towards the wide valley formed by the 
Guildford downs and the range of hills of which Leith 
Hill is the most prominent. Sheltered by these hills 
and with the rich valley behind it, its appearance is 
unusually beautiful, as it is seen through the softening 
haze of the mid-day sun. As evening draws on, and 
the hills deepen into gloom, while the light blue smoke 
ascending from a thousand chimneys half conceals the 
town, and the sun is slowly sinking behind and gilding 
the ridge of distant hills, it is more sombre, but takes 
a firmer hold on the mind. 

In the outset of our account we said that the Mole 
had received many notices from the poets for a quality 
it was only imagined to possess. We alluded to the 
fabulous account of its sinking into the earth and re- 
appearing some miles farther on : as it was at the foot 
of Box Hill it was said to disappear, this seems to be 
the proper place to notice it. Camden says, "The 



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[March 3U 



"Old Holraesdale raUed kill* to keep the itraggler in, 
That of her daughter's stay she need no more to doubt : 
(Yet never was there help, but love could find it out). 
Mole digs herself a path, by working day and night 
(According to her name, to show her nature right), 
And underneath the earth for three miles' space doth creep." 

Yet, after all, Thames is forced on ; although we are 
clad to find, a little lower, that something like poetical 
justice is rendered to our Mole : for when 

" Tames did understand what pains the Mole did take" 
for his behoof, he showed his sympathy, and in some 
measure endeavoured to requite her attachment ; for 
" Up towards the place, where first his much-loved Mole was seen, 

He ever since doth flow towards delightful Sheen.'* 

In a note to his account of the disappearance of the 
Mole. Drayton says, "The Mole runs into the earth 
about a mile from Darking in Surrey, and after some 
two miles sees the light again, which to be certain hath 
been affirmed by inhabitants thereabout reporting." 
And then proceeds to show by plenteous classical cita- 
tions, that there are rivers in Greece and Sicily which 
flow underground in a similar manner. De Foe, in 
his * Tour through Great Britain/ is said by Bray to 
have first pointed out the error of Camden. But he 
was wrong in denying the statement entirely ; it seldom 
happens that these accounts, however exaggerated, are 
altogether without foundation. The statement of Mr. 
Bray, the editor of Manning's • History of Surrey' (in 
vol. ii., pp. 649-666, &c. of that work), is to the effect 
that the Mole does not disappear at once and then 
burst forth at once ; but in a dry summer, in various 
places between Burford-bridge, in Mickelham, and 
Thorncroft- bridge, it is absorbed and lost in the porous 
bed through which it runs, leaving in many places 
the naked gravel and in others forming a stagnant 
pool. Mr. Bray says he has often seen it dry at Bur- 
ford-bridge, though in floods the river has nearly run 
over the bridge. There is no reason to suppose that 
it forms an underground current ; there is, however, 
a spring by Thorncrof t-bridge, at a small distance from 
the river, from which a constant stream issues and runs 
into it; there are also two hollows in Burford Park, 
in the bottom of which the current of the Mole may, 
it is said, be traced. A careful plan of the Mole from 
Box Hill to Leatherhead is given by Mr. Bray, in 
which the parts that become dry are shown, and the 
' Swallows' between these places marked. A little be- 
low the places which become dry, other streams run 
into the bed of the river, and it appears to flow on as 
usual : these circumstances combined, no doubt gave 
rise to the report. There is some interest in tracing 
these " vulgar errors," and we hope our readers will 
not think we have dwelt too long on this. 

Leaving Box Hill on our right, we soon reach Bur- 
ford-bridge, of which mention is made above. The 
vale here is called Mickelham, and is one of the love- 
liest anywhere to be found. It would indeed be no 
easy thing to select a more beautiful ramble than that 
by the side of the Mole as it winds through this valley. 
The downs are close on either hand, and, although of 
no great "height, afford prettily varied slopes, and are 
more wooded than the downs usually are. All along 
the valley there is a pleasing admixture of soft swell- 
ing downs and cultivated land, parks with magnificent 
trees and lordly mansions, happy-looking country- 
houses, so snugly wrapped up in their coatings of 
evergreens, yet so gay in their heaps of brilliant flow- 
ers, with one or two antique though rural churches, 
and many a picturesque cluster of cottages. Mr. 
Sharp (conversation Sharp, as he is called) had a 
• Retreat' in Mickelham, and many a gathering of 
the most gifted men of the age occurred within its 
walls, Sir James Mackintosh, as we are informed 



in his Memoirs, used often, when in India, to speak 
with great delight of this, *' The happy valley," as he 
was accustomed to designate it. Norbury Park, the seat 
of Mr W. Lock, the friend of Fuseli, so often referred 
to in Fuseli's Life, is in Mickelham. The Mole flows 
through its beautiful grounds : the house is a fine 
structure ; its walls were painted by Barrett, the suc- 
cessful rival, in the estimation of his contemporaries, 
of Wilson, with views chiefly of the Lakes, but which 
appear to harmonize with the natural scenery by which 
they are surrounded. In the Park is an abundance 
of fine timber : formerly there is said to have been so 
many walnut-trees on the estate, as to have produced 
100/. at a tything of Ad. a tree. They were nearly all 
cut down, however, by a Mr. Chapman, when he pur- 
chased the estate. Mickelham Church is evidently of 
great antiquity : it has a large square tower with double 
buttresses at the corners ; at one side of the tower is a 
window with a round-headed arch with dentals, and in 
the body of the church are some others of curious 
form : but it is to be regretted that, at some reparation 
of the edifice, they have been so altered and painted, 
that it is not easy to tell how much of them is genuine. 
There are several interesting monuments about the 
church, and, altogether, it will repay examination. A 
little farther on, a neat school has just been erected on 
the hill-side ; it is designed with a happy feeling (as an 
artist would say) for the capabilities of the situation, 
and will not fail to remind the traveller of the secluded 
kirk-houses on the fell-sides in the northern counties. 

Although the Mole here runs pretty much through 
private grounds, it may be followed by the pedestrian, 
and is so beautiful all the way to Leatherhead, that it 
should not be left, or only to look at some places that 
may be passed. Here, as in Betchworth Park, it has 
many little islets ; and the river, altogether, will recall 
the Thames in its pleasanter parts to the memory. 

After leaving Norbury Park, we soon reach Thorn- 
croft, and shortly descry the lofty tower of Leatherhead 
Church, with the irregular roofs of the town beyond it. 
Leatherhead Church is an ancient structure, having 
been rebuilt about 1346, when the present tower was 
added. It bears evident marks of having been built at 
various periods, being formed partly of brick, partly 
of a sandstone that is fast decaying, and partly of flints 
and rubble. It has a variety of projecting roofs and 
porches, that have been added to the original edifice 
as convenience rather than design suggested ; the effect, 
however, is not the less picturesque lor the absence of 
formality. The whole was modernized in 1701. The 
interior is very neat and clean in its appearance. It 
abounds with noticeable monuments both within and 
without. 

Leatherhead is a quiet town ; little appears to disturb 
it — the ostler at the Swan seems the only person 
moved even by the stage as it passes through its long 
street. It is situated on very irregular ground, and has 
therefore less stiffness than many country towns. It is 
a very old place, being mentioned in Domesday Book ; 
yet although it bears evident traces of antiquity, there 
is little in it to attract attention — nor are there any 
buildings of historical interest, unless the Mansion- 
house in South-street may be said to possess it, which 
has the somewhat unenviable distinction of having been 
the residence of Judge Jeffries. His daughter died 
here ; her burial is recorded in the parish register to 
have taken place on Dec. 2nd, 1688. But even 
Jeffries's house is not in its original condition : it was 
rebuilt in 1710. There is a public-house near the 
bridge that is supposed to be the same whose ale wife 
is celebrated by the poet Skelton. The Mole at 
Leatherhead spreads out to a considerable width, and 
is crossed by an excellent bridge of fourteen arches, 
seven of them being in Fetcham parish. Leatherhead 



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trout are very famous, and the traveller who wishes to test 
their excellence may, if he be a brother of the angle, 
throw a line here -or mine hostess of the Swan will, 
in the proper season, supply those who may prefer the 
fish without the labour. 

[To be continued.] 

BALMS AND BALSAMS. 
The word balsam* like many other words in common 
use, has a double signification. It is applied to a kind 
of garden-plant very common in this country/and it 
is also applied to a viscid juice or sap employed in the 
East for perfumery and for medical purposes. Nay, 
there is even a third mode of employing the word ; for 
while the true balsam is a juice exuding from trees, 
there are also artificial balsams formed by mixing 
various ingredients into a paste or unctuous substance. 
The general character of a true or natural balsam is, 
that it is a fragrant, oily, viscid, inflammable juice, 
exuding from various trees and plants, insoluble in 
water, incapable of putrefaction, and exerting a pre- 
servative power over animal substances. This last- 
named property gave rise to the expression embalming, 
as applied to dead bodies undergoing the preservative 
process. 

The Balm of Gilead (not the composition of Solo- 
mons, of Liverpool, which merely assumed the popular 
name) is one of the most noted of the balsams (for 
* balm' and 4 balsam' are indiscriminately applied to 
these substances). It is a resinous matter exuding 
from the bark of an Oriental tree found in Abyssinia 
and Arabia. There is one kind called balm of Gilead, 
and another called balsam of Mecca, between which 
some comparison has arisen, from ignorance whether 
or not they are identical ; but for the purpose of ge- 
neral description we may deem them so. The plant 
producing this balm grows to a height of fourteen feet, 
flourishing in a hot climate and in a barren stony soil. 
The wood is white, light, and of open texture, covered 
with a smooth bark ; this bark resembles in colour that 
of a standard cherry-tree, and emits a very fragrant 
odour. The leaves somewhat resemble those of rue, 
and the flowers those of the acacia. The fruit consists 
of small oval berries, containing a yellowish fluid 
similar to honey, and exhaling a perfume. 

The balm flows from incisions in the tree, which are 
made with an axe during the months of July, August, 
and September, at a time when the sap is circulating 
with great activity. Each day's produce is received in 
small earthen bottles, and thence poured into one of 
larger dimensions ; but the quantity obtained is very 
small, and its collection is tedious and troublesome, 
for the total exudation is usually but three or four 
drops in a day, nor does the most productive tree afford 
above sixty ; this scarcity is one reason why the balm 
is sold at so high a price as it commands in the East. 
The odour soon after collection is strong and pungent, 
occasioning a sensation like that of volatile salts ; its 
intensity decays, and indeed wholly disappears, if the 
balm be not carefully preserved. It has a rough, acid, 
pungent taste, and a light yellowish colour. It dis- 
solves readily in water. It acquires a deeper tinge of 
yellow by time, and thickens to the consistence of 
honey. The high price of this substance leads to a 
system of adulteration on the part of those who sell it ; 
oil of sesamum, turpentine, honey, wax, and other in- 
gredients being mixed with it to increase its weight. 

The balm obtained from the plant in the above man- 
ner is called opobalsamum ; but the same plant yields 
two other forms of the substance, one called carpo- 
balsamum, prepared by expressing a pungent and 
odorous juice from the fruit, and another, called xylo- 
balsamum, prepared from a decoction of the twigs. 



These twigs are collected in small faggots and sent to 
Venice. 

The balm of Gilead, or Mecca balsam, has been at 
various times and in various countries recommended 
as a cure for almost all the " ills that flesh.is heir to." 
Some have applied it as a vulnerary, to cure wounds ; 
some as a stomachic ; some for fevers ; others for 
rheumatism. As an antiseptic it has been celebrated 
from very early times, and is for that reason employed 
in embalming. When the plague makes its appear- 
ance in Egypt, those who can afford so costly an anti- 
dote take a small quantity of the balm daily. Its 
principal use in the East, however, is as a cosmetic by 
the laaies of rank. After a warm bath, the face and 
other parts of the person are anointed with the 
balsam ; and the same process is continued every third 
day during a month. Oil of almonds and other cos- 
metics are then rubbed over the skin, to give the 
finishing bloom for which the balm was a preparative. 
Lady Mary Wortley Montague tried some of this balm 
on her face ; she paid a price for it by three days' pain 
and irritation to which it subjected her, but found that 
it gave to the complexion an artificial bloom for which 
the ladies of Constantinople prized it. 

Capivi Balsam, or Balsam of Copaiba, is another of 
the natural balsams procured from plants. This is 
obtained from the Copaifera officinalis, a tall and ele- 
gant tree, growing in Brazil and several other parts 
of South America. To procure the balsam, several 
incisions, formed sometimes with an auger, are made 
in the tree near the ground, penetrating through the 
bark into the substance of the wood ; the balsam flows 
out of these holes in such abundance, that sometimes, 
in three hours, twelve pounds have been obtained. The 
balsam is colourless when flowing from the tree ; after 
awhile it becomes of an amber colour, and consider- 
ably viscid, but retains its transparency. The smell is 
fragrant and powerful ; the taste is bitter, heating, and 
aromatic, and it stains paper in the same manner as 
oil. It is almost insoluble in water ; but it may be 
dissolved in fixed and volatile oils, and in spirits of 
wine. With the latter liquid it makes a strong pene- 
trating tincture. It may be separated by distillation 
into two component ingredients; an insipid resin, and 
a highly fragrant oil, the latter retaining all the essen- 
tial properties of the original balsam. 

The capivi balsam has considerable medicinal value ; 
though, as in many other cases, they have been exag- 
gerated. Many distressing diseases are alleviated, if 
not cured, by its agency ; and it appears to be an im- 
portant item in the Pharmacopoeia. 

The Balsam of Peru is a third variety, belonging 
more or less closely to the other two. It is a gummy 
liquid which exudes from the Myroxylon Peruvianum, 
a large tree growing in Peru, Mexico, Brazil, and 
other parts of South America. The ancient Mexican 
kings are said to have cultivated this tree in their 
gardens for the sake of the balsam, which flows from 
the bark whenever the latter is wounded, especially at 
the end of the rainy season. It exudes very sparingly, 
and soon concretes into a fragrant brittle resin. There 
are two kinds, the black and the white, the latter of 
which is more valuable and fragrant than the former. 
The common sort is of a dark colour approaching to 
black; the smell highly fragrant; the taste aromatic, 
rather bitter, and very acrid ; and the consistence 
always thick and viscid — the white variety assuming a 
more solid form. It is scarcely soluble in water, but 
completely so in spirits of wine, and yields on distilla- 
tion a fragrant reddish oil. Peruvian balsam is exten- 
sively employed in medicine as a stimulant, both 
internally and externally. A tincture is made by dis- 
solving the balsam in spirits of wine, and it enters 
into several of the artificial or compound balsamic pre- 



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parations. It is frequently given in the form of an 
emulsion mixed with water and white of cg£. 

The Balsam of Tolu is another variety. This is the 
product of the Toluifera balsamum, a tree growing in 
the province of Tolu in South America. The balsam is 
obtained, as in the other instances, by making incisions 
in the bark of the trees. It is of a reddish yellow 
colour and pellucid ; its consistence when fresh is ex- 
tremely tenacious, but by age it becomes brittle. In 
hot weather pieces of ttte balsam have a tendency to 
coalesce and adhere to the bottom of any vessel in 
which they are kept It yields an extremely fragrant 
and gratetul smell, but only a slight taste. It readily 
imparts its flavour to watery liquids, though almost 
insoluble in them. Eight ounces of this balsam boiled 
in three pints of water make a very fragrant decoction, 
used in tnis country for medicinal purposes. A tinc- 
ture is also prepared by dissolving an ounce and a 
half of the balsam in a pint of rectified spirits of wine. 
When this balsam is burned, it yields a remarkably 
aromatic penetrating smoke ; andf on this account it 
was often an ingredient in those fumigations which 
were formerly so much employed with a view either of 
purifying an infected atmosphere or of diffusing a 
grateful perfume. It is used in medicine chiefly as a 
stimulant. 

There are tho balsamum rachasira, the balsamum 
Carpathicum, the balsamum Canadense, and others, 
which partake of the general character of those above 
described ; all being produced by exudation from the 
trunks of trees, and all being more or less aromatic 
and stimulant. There is another, more important than 
these, called storax. This is a resinous drug, obtained 
in greatest perfection from trees growing in Asiatic 
Turkey. It issues in the fluid state from incisions 
made in the bark of the trunk or branches. It has a 
most pleasing fragrant ordour. Two kinds of this 
balsam or resm have been commonly distinguished in 
the shops, viz. the pure and the common storax. The 
first of these is usually obtained in irregular compact 
masses, free from impurities, of a yellowish or reddish 
brown appearance, and interspersed with whitish drops. 
It is extremely fragrant, and melts readily. The masses 
generally are termed • storax in the lump,' while the 
whitish drops or tears are called * storax in the tear.* 
The common storax is imported in large masses, very 
light, and bears but little external resemblance to the 
purer; it is, in fact, composed of dirty sawdust mixed 
up with the resinous matter. Common storax, infused 
in water, imparts to the menstruum a good yellow 
colour, a slight odour, and a slight balsamic taste. 
Among some of the ancients, storax was a familiar 
remedy in catarrhs, coughs, asthmas, and other com- 
plaints. The name of storax, or liquid storax, has also 
been applied to an exudation from a North American 
tree ; it is obtained from incisions made in the trunk ; 
while a liquid called liquidambar is obtained by boiling 
the bark or branches in water. The liquid storax 
used formerly to be much used for external applica- 
tions, but it has fallen into comparative disuse. 

Artificial balms or balsams are numerous, and are 
either avowed imitations of the natural products or 
asserted to p6ssess similar qualities. Friar's balsam, 
or Jesuit" s drops, and the Balsamum Vitce, or *• Bal- 
sam of Life,** introduced by Hoffman, are among the 
most noted of them ; but of these compounds it is not 
our purpose to treat. 

It has been remarked with respect to the medicinal 
use of all these kinds of balsam : — " Of all the proper- 
ties which have been attributed to the internal use of 
balsams, none is more ancient and commonly preva- 
lent than that of healing or vulnerary'* This idea ap- 
pears to have arisen from the observations of their use 
when externally applied to a recent wound. If a gash 



is made in the hand with a clean cutting knife, and 
the parts are brought together and bound up with a 
rag dipped in any balsam, and left undisturbed for 
some days, it is matter of common remark that the 
wound will generally heal without any suppuration, by 
simple adhesion of the divided parts. 



The Fair at fteval.—- The Jahrmarkt, or annual fair, is now 
going forward in Reval. This is lield in a most picturesque spot, 
beneath the old elm-trees before the church of St. Nicholas ; the 
low wide- roofed booths surmounted with their different insignia, 
with wares of all colours floating around them, and merchants of 
all complexions swarming before them, while the venerable trees 
and time-worn edifice look down in sober grandeur on all this 
short-lived bloom. In old times, every merchant of any con- 
sideration in Reval removed to his booth in the fair, and old 
customers were welcomed to old goods ; and though the one was 
n6t less dear, nor the other less difficult, yet both buyer and 
seller equally enjoyed the gaiety of the time, and were satisfied 
with this social gain. But now 'Reval mankind is becoming 
soberer, and by tacit consent it has been agreed that as no supe- 
riority in the goods nor accession in the demand accompanies 
this change of place, it is as well to leave the merchandise in its 
place on the counter, instead of flaunting it forth beneath the old 
trees in the church-yard. The Jahrmarkt is therefore gradually 
being abandoned to the travelling merchants from countries 
widely severed, who peregrinate from one mart to another, and, 
save the same sovereigu, own no social element or bond in com- 
mon. Here wece Russians with their Siberian furs, and Bul- 
garians with their Turkish clothes, and Tula merchants with 
their cutlery — all infinitely more interesting to the foreigner than 
the wares they displayed. And before his booth lolled the 
sleepy Tartar, with flat face and high cheek-bones, and little 
eyes which opened and shut on his customers with a languor and 
expression often absent from orbs of twice the dimensions— and 
beside him paced the grave Armenian, with long nose and nigh 
peaked forehead, and searching glance — neither comprehending 
the other, and both accosting me in Russian scarce superior to 
mine own. " Whence does the Svdarina come?'* " Yd Angli- 
chanka," "I am an Englishwoman," I replied; an avowal 
abroad, like that of a patrician name at home, never otherwise 
than agreeable to make, and, thinking to increase his respect, 
added, " and my home is two thousand wersts off." " Eto 
nichavo" t% That 's nothing,'* said the Armenian, with a smile not 
unmixed with disdain; ** my wife and children live six thousand 
wersts hence." Nor is this by any means an extreme case — the 
Petersburg post peuetrates to inland homes fourteen thousand 
wersts removed from the monarch's residence.— Letters frtm the 
Baltic. 

Mines of Potosi. — Tlte mountain of Potosi, when viewed from 
the city heights, with the hill in its front, called the Younger 
Potosi, enclosed to the eye within the circumference of the great 
cone without, is in shape like au exteuded tent, and if the miud of 
the observer can separate the sum of moral evil it has iu flic ted ou 
the world from the. bare view, no sterile object in nature can be 
more truly magnificent. Leaving out of the question its confor- 
mation, the numerous metalliferous tints with which the coue is 
patched and coloured, green, orange, yellow, grey, and rose- 
colour, according to the hues of the ores which have been scat- 
tered from the mouths of the mines, are singular and beautiful 
in effect. The number of tlie mines is reckoued by some 
Spaniards at five thousand. This is an exaggeration at first ap- 
pearance, but it must be understood by the reader that it refers 
to portions of mines called * Estacas,' or individual shares, consist- 
ing of so many square * varas' (yards or feet) which each proprietor 
holds by virtue of what is called ' denouncement/ as prescribed 
iu the old Spanish code, or " laws of the mines." Whatever 
may have been the quantity of these Estacas once at work, not 
more than a hundred were in activity when I was at Potosi, and 
probably not one half that number until General Miller became 
the governor, when affairs began to wear a brighter aspect, and 
the country to recover a little from its distresses. This was 
Been to be the case in all the different branches of employ. 
Previous to the Revolution the river before alluded to turned the 
barbarously constructed machinery of niuety ' ingenios,' or 
stamping-mills, for breaking the ores.— Captain Andrews's Jttn 
neyfrum Buenot Agra to Potest* 



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A DAY AT THE PITZALAN STEEL AND FILE-WORKS, SHEFFIELD. 



[Steel Casting.— Furnace*, Crucibles, Mould, IaguU, icc.J 



** From what country and in what form is steel pro- 
cured r* We should probably be correct in surmis- 
ing that this question has occurred to many who are 
familiar enough with the appearance and the use of 
steeL Whether this valuable metal is a simple sub- 
stance, forming narrow veins in hard rock ; whether 
it occupies thick layers or beds beneath the earth's sur- 
face, like coal and rock-salt; whether it is found 
in rounded lumps or crude masses, scattered irregu- 
larly in mining districts ; whether it is formed chemi- 
cally from a mixture of several different substances, by 
the aid of heat and liquefaction, and with all the appli- 
ances of retorts, crucibles, and furnaces; whether it 
contains iron, or u iron, and how (if it be iron) the 
change from one form to the other is brought about ; 
whether there are any steel-mines, and, if so, where 
they are situated — all these are points which are by no 
means so generally understood as they deserve to be ; 
and it will not be a misappropriation of time if we 
devote a " Day " to the subject. 

Steel is a combination of iron and carbon. Black- 
lead, of which drawing-pencils are made, is also com- 
posed principally of iron and carbon. Cast-iron, too, 
is a compound containing pure iron and carbon. The 
striking differences between these three substances 
arise in a twofold manner: — from the relative propor- 
tion between the two ingredients, and from the manner 
in which the union is brought about. Thus, malleable 
iron, such as is formed into bars and wire, contains a 



No. 



770. 



very little carbon ; steel contains rather more ; cast- 
iron contains a variable quantity according to the pur- 
poses to which it is to be applied, but always a greater 
proportion than steel and a less proportion than plum- 
bago (or, as it is misnamed, •• black-lead "). A mere 
difference in the relative proportion of the two ingre- 
dients, therefore, will not suffice to explain the differ- 
ence between iron and steel. Steel, in its composition, 
occupies a middle place between malleable iron and 
cast-iron; but its qualities are very different from 
either, and these qualities appear to be due to the 
manner in which the two ingredients combine. Some- 
times the combination presents a granulated texture, 
sometimes fibrous, sometimes crystalline, sometimes 
smooth and glittering, at other times rough and dull. 
Even scientific and practical men best qualified to 
master the subject have not yet shown why and how 
these changes take place ; and it will therefore be out 
of place for us here to attempt any minute explana- 
tion. It will suffice for the present object to state the 
matter thus — that all our steel is made from bar-iron, 
which iron had been previously made from the ore by 
the processes of smelting, forging, &c, as described in 
our last Supplement; that the change from iron to 
steel is brought about by a long and careful series of 
processes, in the course of which carbon is absorbed 
by the iron ; and that the steel so produced derives dif- 
ferent qualities according to the subsequent processes 
which it undergoes. 



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It may appear strange, and indeed has about it some- 
thing very remarkable, that notwithstanding the im- 
mensity of our iron manufacture, all our finest steel is 
made from iron brought from abroad ; that this iron is 
procured from one single district, brought to one single 
English port, and consigned to the hands of one single 
firm. There appears reason to believe that this will 
not continue to be the case to so great an extent as it 
has been; but it is at present sufficiently near the 
truth to require at the outset a little explanation. 

There is among the iron-mines of Sweden one which 
yields iron better fitted for making steel than any 
other yet discovered, at least in an available form ; and 
English steel-makers have found this iron so valuable 
for their purpose, that they have been content to give 
a \ery high price for it, rather than employ English 
iron. The iron-mines of Sweden, taken collectively, 
are governed in a peculiar manner, which imparts the 
character of a very strict monopoly to the sale of 
Swedish iron in England. Each forge has its par- 
ticular mark stamped on the bars of iron it produces, 
which is correctly copied into a register, with the name 
of the place where the establishment is situated— the 
names of the proprietors of the work — the commis- 
sioner or agent for the sale of iron — the assortment 
each makes, and to what country it is generally 
shipped — the quantity annually made by each work — 
the quantity which each work delivers to the govern- 
ment (which is about one per cent, on the quantity of 
the iron produced) — the determination of the quality 
of the iron of each work — the place and province in 
which the works arc situated — the place from whence 
the iron is generally shipped — and how many forge- 
hammers there are at each work. 

Among the mines thus regulated is that of Danne- 
mora, which supplies England with iron for making 
steel. It is situated about thirty miles from Upsala, 
and has now been worked for nearly four centuries 
without failing in the abundance of its rich supply. 
The mine first belonged to the King of Sweden, 
then to the Archbishop of Upsala ; but now it belongs 
to several private individuals, who work it separately 
on their own account. The ore differs in quality in 
different parts of the mine ; some yielding 25 per 
cent, of cast-iron, and some as much as 75 per cent. 
The ore is blasted with gunpowder, and, after being 
broken in small pieces, is roasted. The smelting is 
effected in conical-shaped furnaces; the fuel employed 
being charcoal. The cast or ' pig' iron obtained is as 
white as silver, completely crystallized, and very brittle ; 
and to convert this into malleable iron, it is heated in 
a bed of charcoal, and hammered out into bars, which 
are found to have a fibrous texture and a very tough 
quality. "The quantity of iron which this mine yields 
every year," saysMr. Scrivenor, from whoso interesting 
• History of the Iron Trade ' these details are chiefly 
taken, " amounts to about four thousand tons ; the 
whole of it is sent to England, to the house of Messrs. 
Sykes of Hull, where it is known by the name of Ore- 
grund iron, taking its name from the port at which 
it is shipped. The first or best marks are ' hoop-L/ 
which sells at 40/. a ton, and OOCL, which sells at 39/. 
a ton ; while the best Russian mark, the CCND, sel- 
dom fetches a higher price than 20/. a ton. The cause 
of the superiority of the Dannemora iron has never 
been explained. Some chemists ascribe it to the pre- 
sence of manganese : Berzelius attributed it to the 
presence of the metal of silica ; while others suppose 
it to arise from the nature of the process employed." 

There is allusion above to * marks,' which may need 
a little explanation. Each kind of iron has a reputa- 
tion of its own, great or small, as the case may be ; and 
the more highly it is esteemed, the more earnest are 
the makers in wishing that no other should be mis- 



taken for it. Hence has arisen the custom of stamp- 
ing some symbol on the end of each bar, by which the 
quality of the metal shall be known. Thus, CCND 
is the symbol of the Russian iron brought from the 
mines of Prince Demidoff, a quality highly valued for 
many purposes ; « hoop-L ' (that is, a letter L encom- 
passed by a hoop) is the still more celebrated and 
valued Swedish Oregrund iron : while others are de- 
signated the • double bullet,' the • gridiron/ the * stein- 
buck,' the * C and Crown,' &c., according to the symbol 
stamped upon the bars. 

We have found, then, that English steel is to a great 
degree made from foreign iron, brought to the port of 
Hull ; and we have to trace it from thence. Some 
small portion goes to London, some to Newcastle, some 
to Birmingham ; but all these are fragmentary and 
trifling compared with what goes to Sheffield. Here 
we find the centre of the steel trade, ramifying into a 
multiplicity of branches almost endless. Sheffield is 
as completely the metropolis of steel as Manchester is 
of cotton or Leeds of woollens. There is not a cor- 
ner of the world where a British ship is allowed to 
enter but could exhibit some specimens or other of 
Sheffield steel goods. The rivers of Sheffield, if they 
could speak, would tell how busily they are employed 
in setting in motion the machinery for bringing steel 
to some one or other of its numerous forms; while the 
thoughts of the inhabitants, the names of many of the 
streets, the arrangement of the buildings, and the cor- 
porate usages of the town — all point to steel as being 
indeed a precious metal to Sheffield. 

There are in this busy town several large establish- 
ments called Steel- Works, where the bar-iron is con- 
verted into steel and brought to a form fitted for the 
numerous workers in that metal. Some of these, ac- 
cording to the technical phraseology of the town, are 
' tilts,' some are * mills,' some are * converting-works,' 
while a few comprise all the varieties within them- 
selves. To understand this, it will be necessary to 
remark that manufactures are extremely subdivided 
at Sheffield, as at Birmingham ; skill in one branch or 
sub-branch of manufacture having been deemed a suf- 
ficient reason for confining attention thereto, to the 
exclusion of others. 

The cutlery trade generally of Sheffield will not 
come under our notice in the present article, else we 
should have to speak of this subdivision more fully ; 
but it will be sufficient, in reference to steel, to state 
that some works or manufacturers are wholly occupied 
in converting, or making the crudest form of steel ; 
others in tilting, or giving a further development to 
the steel; others in casting, or giving to steel a still 
higher quality by pouring it into ingots or moulds in a 
liquid state ; and others in milling or rolling, whereby 
the steel is brought into the form either of bars or of 
sheets; while in some few cases the converting, the 
tilting, the casting, and the rolling are all carried on 
in one establishment. 

Among the Works last alluded to, we have been 
favoured with access to the Fitzalan Steel- Works 
of Messrs. Marriott and Atkinson, which, besides ex- 
hibiting the various processes of steel-making, are 
well fitted to illustrate our subject, inasmuch as the 
file manufacture (one of the most important in which 
steel is employed) is there conducted on a large scale. 

These Works are situated at Attercliffe, an eastern 
suburb of Sheffield. The whole neighbourhood is sin- 
gularly favoured as to facilities for manufactures. 
Sheffield is in a hollow, nearly surrounded by hills ; 
and several small rivers flow between tBese hills into 
the hollow, thus affording moving-power for a large 
number of water-wheels. Atterclifte is situated at a 
part of the district where all these streams have be- 
come one, and where also a canal opens a communica- 

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tion between Sheffield and the port of Hull, so that 
there is both motive-power and transit-power at com- 
mand. 

The Fitzalan Works occupy a quadrangular space 
surrounded by buildings, on the north bank of the 
Sheffield Canal. When within the entrance-gates we 
find a quadrangle having a large tank or reservoir 
near the centre, and around it are the various work- 
shops for conducting the manufacturing processes. 
On the right hand are the * converting ' furnaces, where 
the iron is first made to assume the form of steel ; 
opposite are the • tilting ' and • shearing ' houses, the 
•rolling-mill,' the 'casting-house/ the * engine-house, ' 
and other buildings pertaining more or less to the 
manufacture ; on the left are the • file-forges,' where 
pieces of steel are brought into the rough form for 
files ; while on the north or entrance side of the qua- 
drangle are ranges of shops in which these pieces go 
through the numerous stages of progress incidental to 
the production of a file. Southward of the group of 
buildings is a wharf on the banks of the canal, where 
barges bring the iron from Hull and other places, and 
whence the finished goods are dispatched by similar 
conveyance. On the opposite banks of the canal are 
little patches of garden-ground, held by the proprietors 
of the Works, and let out to their workmen on the 
allotment system ; — a plan now acted on in many 
manufacturing towns, and always with good results; 
for it gives to the workmen a healthy occupation dur- 
ing a few leisure hours, and at the same time cements 
the connection between them and their employers. 

The arrangements of the various buildings depend 
on the nature of the processes carried on, and these 
therefore we will proceed to notice in the order in 
which they naturally occur. The making and per- 
fecting of steel form the main or general object, 
while the fabrication of this steel into files con- 
stitutes one application of (he material, afterwards to 
be noticed. 

The * converting-furnaces' are the scene of the first 
stage in steel-making. The object in view is to satu- 
rate iron bars with carbon to such an extent as to 
change their quality from iron to steel. The bars so 
saturated are of various widths, and are partly Swedish 
and partly English, according to the purposes to which 
the steel is to be applied. These bars, when adjusted 
to convenient lengths, are packed or piled up in the 
converting-furnaces in a singular manner. Each con- 
verting-furnace, viewed outwardly, has somewhat the 
shape of a glass-house, being a sort of conical covering 
to an oven of very large size. The oven contains two 
oblong receptacles or troughs, each measuring nearly 
twenty feet in length, about a yard deep and the same 
in width. They are so placed with respect to each 
other, that a strong body of flame may play around 
both of them, and raise to a high heat whatever may 
be placed in them. 

On the bottom of each trough is placed a layer of 
coarsely powdered charcoal ; then a layer of iron bars, 
placed side by side, as many as the width will admit ; 
then another layer of charcoal ; then a layer of iron 
bars ; and so on till the trough is filled, at which time 
it contains more than thirty alternations of iron and 
charcoal. The surface is covered with a clayey sub- 
stance called wheelnvarf, derived from the abrasion or 
wear of the numerous grindstones used at Sheffield, 
made into a kind of cement or putty. A fire is kindled 
with Sheffield coal (which is round to be excellently 
adapted for this purpose), and kept up fiercely for 
many days. During this time the iron is in a red-hot 
or perhaps a white-hot state; the charcoal is also 
highly heated ; and the iron seems gradually to absorb 
a portion of charcoal into the very heart of the bar. 
The coating of wheelswarf prevents the charcoal from 



burning away, and thereby leaves it in a condition to 
act upon the iron. One of the bars is so placed in the 
trough that it can be drawn out occasionally without 
disturbing the others ; and from the inspection of this 
bar the workman tests the progress of the operation. 
Steel for coach-springs requires less of this action, or a 
' lower degree ot conversion,' and is therefore exposed 
to a lower heat than any other; steel for numerous 
common articles of manufacture requires a higher con- 
version ; steel which is afterwards to be • sheared ' or 
hammered for knife-blades and other purposes, still 
higher ; steel for files requires a yet higher degree of 
conversion ; and steel which is afterwards to be cast in 
a fluid state requires the highest of all. The business 
of the steel-converter, therefore, is one of some nicety, 
demanding the exercise of care and judgment. 

We have said that it is one of the peculiarities of 
Sheffield to subdivide the several stages in manufac- 
ture, and to appropriate each stage to one set of manu- 
facturers. Ill is system may be illustrated by the case 
now under notice. There are many manufacturers in 
Sheffield who keep converting-furnaces only; they 
receive the iron in bars, pass these bars through the 
process of conversion, and then their department is 
ended. The Works which we are describing, being 
among the few that exhibit the successive stages, are 
very convenient for our object ;* but to get an idea of 
the general character of Sheffield industry, it will be 
necessary to bear in mind that the operations of the 
converting-furnace are considered to be one branch of 
manufacture, distinct from and not necessarily asso- 
ciated with others. 

The bars of iron when removed from the converting- 
furnace are in that state which procures for them the 
name of blister-steel They have absorbed only about 
one per cent, of carbon, yet their quality is greatly 
changed. The steel, in this form, is not regarded as a 
material for manufactures, except for coarse goods ; it 
is carried to a further stage before it has the necessary 
compactness and completeness for use in finer work, 
since the blisters, even if no other defects existed, 
would unfit it for all but coarse purposes. It obtains 
the name of common steel when, after being again 
heated, it is hammered with a very ponderous ham- 
mer, whereby a tougher quality is imparted to it. The 
most customary process to which it is next subjected is 
shearing— a. name worthy to be classed among those 
which illustrate the odd nomenclature of manufac- 
tures. When we see ' shear-steel * stamped on table- 
knives, we may not inaptly imagine that it is steel 
which has been cut with a pair of shears ; but the con- 
nection is more remote. This steel, soon after its intro- 
duction, being found suitable for making shears, it 
obtained the name of shear-steel ; and by another step in 
the same road, the process came at length to be called 
shearing — a name about as consistent as it would be to 
apply the term shoeing to the process of tanning a calf- 
skin, on the ground that it makes leather fit for shoes. 

The process of shearing steel is somewhat analogous 
to the welding of iron. It consists in heating several 
pieces, and hammering them one upon another, until 
all form one mass, greatly more dense, compact, and 
tough than the blister-steel from which it was made. 
This department of the manufacture introduces us to 
a part of the Works where some new features of ar- 
rangement demand our notice. The tilt-house or the 
shear-house is a building constructed with especial re- 
ference to strength and resistance of vibration. On 
entering this building we see on the left hand furnaces 
for bringing the pieces of blister-steel to a proper heat 
for welding or shearing ; while before us are three ham- 
mers of enormous size and remarkable construction. 
The centre one of these hammers is the shear-hammei , 
employed in the operation now under notice; while 

H 2 



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[Shear and Tilt- Hammer*.] 



tne other two are tilt-hammers, for a process which 
will be noticed further on. Each hammer consists of 
a mass of iron with a steel face, fixed at the end of a 
ponderous mass of wood bound with iron hoops ; and 
all these three handles are connected with a revolving 
shaft or drum worked by a steam-engine. There is 
mechanism attached to this end, whereby the huge 
hammer is worked up and down with great rapidity, 
much in the same way as hammers are used by hand. 
So far the arrangements seem clear enough ; but it is 
not until we consider the vibratory and shaking action 
of a hammer weighing twenty cwt. in rapid motion, 
that we can rightly understand the necessity for enor- 
mous strength in the building. Any ordinary struc- 
ture would be shaken to pieces under this visitation ; 
and hence a foundation has to be laid to a surprising 
depth, to prevent this result. In the first place the 
drum or revolving shaft for the three hammers weighs 
thirty-six tons, and the bearings for this rest upon a 
mass of stone-work twenty feet deep, formed of ten 
cubical stones weighing seven tons each. Then, as the 
anvil or flat mass of steel on which the blows of each 
hammer fall, must bear up against this immense con- 
cussion, it is placed on a mass of stone weighing seven 
tons, and this again is supported by a tree or a trunk 
of timber thrust upright many yards deep in the 
ground, and bound round with iron hoops. Altogether, 
therefore, there is a vast deal of underground work to 
fit this tilt-house for the purposes to which it is applied. 
In this building, then, the steel is sheared and tilted. 
The bars of blister-steel are broken up into pieces 
about a foot long. These are heated in a furnace 
or iorge, and when at a white heat they are brought 
under the operation of the large tilt-hammer, by which 
they are beaten out to thirty inches in length. To 
change these pieces into shear-steel, half a dozen of 
them are put one upon another in a pile, and fixed 
firmly at one end in a groove or long handle. The 
group thus connected is placed in a furnace to 'soak,' 



according to a technical phrase, that is, to be partially 
heated, preparatory to a ^more intense heating. The 
group is taken out of this first furnace, and transferred 
to another, where a fierce fire brings it to a white heat. 
The workman attends carefully to the state of the steel 
while in the furnace, as great nicety is required in the 
degree and equalization of the heat attained. When 
sufficiently heated, the group (still held by the handle) 
is taken out of the fire and placed under the largest 
or shear-hammer, where it is beaten on all four sides 
until all the pieces become thoroughly amalgamated or 
welded one to another, and the result appears in the 
form of a bar of steel two or three inches square. Each 
hammer has a kind of blast-pipe, to blow dust and dirt 
from the anvil beneath. In some cases the bar is cut 
in two, heated again, and again welded, whereby the 
process is carried still further. According to the de- 
gree to which it is welded or sheared, the steel is 
called * double-shear,' '^ingle-shear,' or * half-shear.* 
During the heating in the furnace, preparatory to the 
hammering, the group of pieces requires a degree of 
attention whereby the workman is exposed to a very 
intense heat. 

The shear-steel made by this process, when closely 
examined, is found to have lost all the flaws and blisters 
which distinguished it as blister-steel, to have acquired 
a uniformity of character throughout, and to be greatly 
more malleable and tenacious than it was before. 

There is, however, yet to be described a kind of steel 
more important than either of those hitherto described, 
and one to which the beauty of modern steel goods 
is in great part indebted: we allude to cast-steel. 
As the heat employed in melting steel is the greatest 
which the manufacturing arts of any country exhibit, 
the furnaces, the crucibles, and all the apparatus em- 
ployed must be so formed as to endure this heat; and 
we must therefore notice these appliances before we 
can understand the process itself. 

The crucibles or melting-pots are rather less than 



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two feet in height, and have a somewhat sugar-loaf 
shape. They are made of Stourbridge clay, wrought 
to the greatest possible degree of uniformity and 
smoothness. To give this uniformity, the clay, after 
being mixed with water and well worked up, is spread 
out in a thin layer on the floor of a room under the 
casting-house. Two men, with naked feet, tread or 
trample on the clay uninterruptedly for five or six 
hours, — walking, or jumping, or dancing, or shuffling 



(for it is hard to know which to call it) over and over 
again from side to side, and from end to end, until 
every particle of clay has been trodden repeatedly. 
It might seem strange why some kind of mill should 
not be employed in this operation ; but those who are 
most likely to understand the matter state that no other 
method equals this for bringing the clay to a perfect 
uniformity of substance, and expelling all air-bubbles. 
When the clay is prepared, it is made into crucibles 
weighing about twenty-six pounds each, by fashioning 
it in a mould having a core to give the internal form. 
The crucibles, as they are made, are placed in a vault 
where both air and warmth can come to them ; and 
when dried by this means, they are placed, on the 
night before they are to be used, on an annealing 
grate, where they are covered with cinders, and al- 
lowed to remain till the next day. These operations 
of crucible-making are continued uninterruptedly ; for 
notwithstanding the care and trouble bestowed, each 
crucible will only last one day. At the9e Works about 
a hundred and fifty are made and worn out every week. 
The cast-house consists of two rooms or compart- 
ments, both paved with stone, and each containing six 
melting-furnaces. These furnaces are very different 
from others which we have had to mention ; for they 
exhibit to the eye nothing but a hole in the floor about 
eighteen inches square. There are six of these holes 
in a row in each snon ; and so long as they are covered 
by iron covers or lids, there is nothing particular 
to be seen ; but when one of these lids is removed a 
fearfully intense heat is shot upwards from beneath. 
Each hole is the mouth of a furnace ; and each furnace 
is a cell measuring about four feet deep by eighteen 
inches square, being merely large enough to contain 
two crucibles with the requisite quantity of fuel. 



There is a grate beneath, through which a power- 
ful draught ascends to the 'fuel ; and there is a flue 
at one end to carry off the smoke and heated gases. 
Neither bellows nor blast-engine is used ; the intent 
heat being wholly excited and maintained by the 
judicious admission of air from a vaulted chamber 
beneath. The walls of these small furnaces are ex- 
posed to such a destructive temperature, that the 
selection of the material with which they are lined 
becomes a matter of much importance. This material 
obtains the name of ganister. It is a kind of stone 
found near Sheffield, and is used in the first instance 
as road-metal ; after which, when ground to dust by 
wheels and horses' feet, it is collected and made into a 
plaster or lining for the furnaces. 

Let us now Bee what passes in one of these cast- 
liouses. Each crucible-full of metal requires about 
four hours to effect its perfect fusion ; and there are 
three successive meltings in twelve hours. Each fur- 
nace is supplied with coke to a certain height ; and 
the two pots or crucibleB are adjusted within it, side 
l»y side. More coke is then thrown in, until both pots 
are entirely surrounded by it Here they are left to 
be acted upon by the fire, until they are brought to a 
dazzling white heat The cover of the furnace is 
opened, and a long funnel made of sheet-iron is let 
down into each pot, having its open end at a con- 
venient height above. The steel, broken up into 
small fragments, and amounting to thirty or forty 
pounds for each pot is thrown into the funnel, and 
allowed to fall down into the pot. The funnel is then 
removed, the cover put upon the pot, coke added so 
as to enclose it completely, and the lid of the furnace 
put on. From time to time, during the ensuing period 
of four hours, the lid is removed, and the progress of 
the melting watched, more and more coke being 
added when necessary; so that ultimately there are 
from four to five tons of coke used in melting one 
ton of steel. 

As the time approaches for the casting, the men 
make preparations which sufficiently indicate the sort 
of «• Fi re-Kin g" ordeal to which they are about to be 
exposed. They cover their legs and body with coarse 
sacking or leather, saturated with water from a trough 
at hand, and prepare to fill the ingot-moulds with the 
melted steel. These moulds are formed of metal, so 
shaped as to give oblong bars or ingots weighing from 
thirty-six pounds to two hundred pounds each, ac- 
cording to circumstances. Each mould is divided 
into two halves, which halves are bound closely to- 
gether when the casting is about to take place. The 
mould is first coated on the inside with a Kind of oily 
composition, closed up tightly, and placed vertically 
in a hole in the stone floor of the cast-house, with 
the upper end open. One of the men draws off the 
lid ot a furnace, and the white-hot coke is removed 
from about the pot which is about to be emptied. 
A man then takes a long instrument acting like pin- 
cers or tongs, hovers over the furnace in a manner 
which is almost fearful for a spectator to witness, 
puts the tongs down into the furnace, grasps one of 
the pots firmly, and draws it up ; having during this 
time his face directly over a furnace so intensely 
heated as to convert steel into a liquid, and drawing 
up, in this hazardous position, a white-hot crucible 
weighing with its contents sixty pounds. He rests 
the glowing mass with its lower end on the floor ; an- 
other man strikes off some of the adhering slag with a 
long iron bar ; a third man grasps the crucible with 
an instrument held horizontally ; the first man loosens 
his hold, and with his tongs takes off the cover of the 
the crucible; the third man lifts up the mass (no 
trifling weight when held horizontally at the end of a 
bar), goes to the ingot-mould, and pours the liquid 



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steel into it ; while a fourth roan, standing before him, 
clears the liquid stream from any impurities as it 
flows, by means of a long rod. Thus all four have 
their prescribed office ; and no description can give an 
adequate idea of the scene which is presented. The 
terrible yawning mouth over which tne first man ho- 
vers, the glowing mass which he draws forth, the in- 
tense whiteness of the liquid steel as it flows into the 
mould, the profusion of delicate greenish sparks which 
shoot forth during the pouring — all form a spectacle 
which, when once seen, will not be soon forgotten. 

The part of this operation which exposes the work- 
man to the greatest heat is that of drawing the not 
from the furnace ; but the part requiring most skill is 
that of ' teeming,' or pouring into the mould, since it 
is necessary that the liquid stream should fall directly 
down the centre of the mould, without striking against 
the sides more than can be avoided. The eyes of the 
men are weakened by the intense glare to which they 
are exposed, but it does not appear that the general 
health suffers in any marked degree; yet a stranger 
may well marvel how any human frame could bear 
such a trial for years together.* 
. Immediately after each pot is emptied, it is returned 
again to the furnace, again brought to a white heat, 
again filled with pieces of steel, and again exposed to 
four hours' heating. After this has occurred three 
times, or one entire day, the melting-pot has rendered 
its services, and is then cast aside to be replaced by 
another. With regard to the steel thus melted, cer- 
tain important changes have taken place within the 
last few years. It has often been conjectured that 
the Swedish iron derives some of its valuable pro- 
perties from the presence of a small quantity of man- 
ganese ; and within the last few years manganese 
has been introduced as a material to be added to 
the bar-steel in the melting-pot, in order to impart to 
the cast-steel certain valuable qualities which it did 
not possess before this improvement was introduced — 
such as a facility for being worked up into certain ar- 
ticles of cutlery. The history of the invention is rather 
complicated, and involves some of those unpleasant 
features of which our patent-laws exhibit too many 
examples. The invention was, we believe, placed in 
a practical form and patented by a Mr. Heath ; but 
through certain technical flaws in the specification, the 
method has become thrown open to all : Sheffield has 
been greatly benefited, but the inventor has not 
There is now a large quantity of carburet of manganese 
used weekly by the steel-melters of Sheffield ; and the 
use of cast-steel for table-knives and other articles of 
cutlery has been one of the results of the invention. 
The matter is not one for discussion here ; but it seems 
a pity that an invention which benefits a whole town 
should not benefit the inventor. 

If the cast-steel is for the purpose of making saws, 
the ingots are rather flat, so as to be conveniently 
rolled into sheets at the rolling-mill ; but if for other 
purposes, they are generally about as thick as they are 
wide. The rolling of steel into sheets or into bars is 
so precisely analogous to that observable in the iron- 
manufacture, that the same description suffices for 
both. The rolls are very ponderous, weighing as 
much as five hundred pounds each; and when they 
are about to be used, the steel, whether * shear' or 
• cast,' is heated in an adjoining furnace, and passed re- 
peatedly between the rolls while yet red-hot, by which 
it assumes the form either of bars of any required 
shape or of sheets. 

* To illustrate the dangers of the occupation, we may state 
that the man represented iu the act of ' teeming,' in our frontis- 
piece, has, siuce the sketch was taken, nearly lost his eye-sight, 
from a sudden shower of sparks occasioned by a too great damp- 
ness of the mould into which he was pouring the liquid steel. 



The tilting of steel is another curious process, the 
object of which is to close the pores of the steel, and to 
render it as dense and compact as possible. All steel 
for the best articles is tilted before being applied to 
use, whether it be * shear* or 'cast.' The tilting is one of 
the operations carried on in the building described in a 
former paragraph as being constructed with such great 
strength. There are two swings or suspended cradles 
in the tilt-house, one near each tilt-hammer. In these 
swings the men sit while holding the bars of steel to be 
tilted ; since they can move their bodies to and fro (to 
bring every part of each bar under the operation of the 
hammer) more easily when they thus sit, paddling along 
with their feet, than if they stood or walked. The 
bars of steel are heated to a certain temperature in an 
adjoining furnace, and are then brought under the 
action of the tilt-hammer, where a deafening clatter is 
kept up for some minutes, accompanied by a vibration 
all around, which would shake to pieces any but a 
building of great strength. 

It is one of the peculiarities of Sheffield that tilting 
is a trade by itself. In a map of the town we may see 
marked Mr. So-and-so's " Tilt ;" for with the usual 
brevity of technical language, the whole building, with 
its hammers and furnaces, is called a tilt. These tilts 
are mostly situated on the banks of some one or other 
of the rivers which flow through Sheffield ; and it is 
impossible to mistake them when once in their neigh- 
bourhood. There is one, for instance, close to the Lady 
Bridge, where from morning till night there is an in- 
cessant thumping, which snakes the very roadway 
itself. These tillers, or proprietors of tilt-works, re- 
ceive steel in the form of bars, from any parties, and 
pass it under the tilt-hammers ; after which their occu- 
pation is ended. At a few of the Works, such as those 
which form the subject of this paper, the tilting is com- 
bined with the other branches ; but it may, neverthe- 
less, be deemed a distinct branch. 

We must now transfer our attention to that portion 
of the works which is appropriated to iheFile-mamtfac- 
ture. 

These tools, simple and unimportant as they may 
seem, and probably do seem, to those who never enter 
an artisan's workshop, are among the most note-worthy 
articles made of steel. They are the working-tools by 
which every other kind of working-tool is in some 
degree fashioned. Whether a man is making a watch 
or a steam-engine, a knife or a plough, a pin or a 
coach, he would be brought to a stand if he had not 
files at his command. It may be a file with a hundred 
serrations to an inch, or with six or eight ; it may have 
straight cuts like most files, or angular holes like a 
rasp ; it may be two inches long, or a yard long ; it 
may be round, or half-round, or triangular, or square, 
or flat ; blunt or pointed, straight or curved ; — but a 
file of some sort or other will be found in almost every 
workshop. 

The first place to which we have to follow the file- 
makers is the forge. On the eastern side of the quad- 
rangle of the Works is a range of sixteen arches or 
compartments, all opening one into the other. Each 
compartment is fitted up with all the appliances for 
forging files. There is on one side a forge-fire, with a 
hearth on which to place the fuel, and bellows placed 
behind, much in the same way as a common smith's 
forge, but with more attention to neatness and order. 
The workman's bench, if we may use such a terra, is a 
large block of hard stone, weighing about three tons, 
and placed firmly on the earthen floor of the smithy or 
forge. On this are fixed one or more steel anvils, 
adapted by their size and shape to support the pieces 
of bar-steel while being forged into the form of files. 
There are also hammers of various sizes and peculiar 
shapes, and other small implements necessary to the 



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operation. The forges are arranged along an arched 
avenue so that ail are airy and free from any great 
intensity of heat, except at the precise spots where 
heat is required. A file ought to be made of the very 
best steel, and is so, unless— like the razors mentioned 
by Peter Pindar, or the gross of green spectacles im- 
mortalized in the • Vicar of Wakefield' — they are merely 
" made to sell." If a file be too soft, the whole toothed 
surface would be crushed down when applied to use ; 
if too hard, the teeth would fly or break off at every 
stroke ; so that very great care and skill are required 
in the manufacture ; and a firm which has once 
acquired a reputation for good files is extremely soli- 
citous not to damage it by the sale of even one that is 
defective. 

The bars of steel are selected according to the size 
and shape of the files to be made, and when cut into 
pieces, each piece is placed among the burning fuel on 
one of the forges, and quickly brought to the required 
temperature. Except for the smallest files, there are 
two men employed at each forge — a striker and zforger, 
one of whom manages the fire, heats the steel, and acts 
as a general assistant ; while the other is the superior 



workman, who hammers the file into shape, and is 
responsible for its quality. There are various notches, 
ridges, curvatures, and gauges, on and about his small 
steel anvils, which enable him to work the piece of steel 
into the proper form for a file, including the narrow 
handle or * tang.' The rate of working is such, that 
at the whole of the sixteen * hearths' about fifty thou- 
sand dozens of files are made in a year. Each man 
accustoms himself to the making of one particular 
size of file, so that in passing along the range of forges, 
from one end to the other, we begin at the smallest 
files, and go on gradually to the largest. From the 
thickness and softness of the heated metal, there is 
very little rebound to the hammer, and this renders 
the work of the striker rather laborious, especially for 
large files, where a hammer of nearly twenty pounds 
weight is used. 



The files are then annealed or 'lighted/ in order to 
bring the steel to a state of softness fitted for the cut- 
ting of the teeth. This is done by placing them on a 
kind of brick hearth in a furnace, and exposing them 
for several hours to a temperature determined by ex- 
perience ; then, without removing them, they and the 
oven are allowed to cool very slowly, by which the 
steel becomes annealed to a softness suitable to the sub- 
sequent operations. 

jNext succeeds the process of grinding, whereby the 
files (or ' blanks, ' as they are yet termed) are ground 
down to a true and regular surface, whether that be 
flat or curved. In one part of the Works is a build- 
ing where several grindstones of various sizes are 
ranged in a row, all turned by s the steam-engine 
which works the tilt-hammers. Each grindstone is 
occupied by one man, who sits astride over a * horse ' 
or beam behind it, and leans over the grindstone, 
applying the file to the surface of the revolving stone 
in such a manner as to grind the former to a true 
and correct form. The process is wet and dirty, from 
the mixture of fragments of stone and steel with the 
water used in wetting the stone ; and the attitude in 
which the grinder works renders the process rather a 
laborious one. 

Then ensues the very important and curious opera- 
tion of cutting the files, one which has hitherto defied 
the powers of machinery in an extraordinary manner. 
In one of the buildings of the works is a long room in 
which file-cutters are ranged round the sides in front 
of the windows, as in the next sketch, each one having 
a small bench before him with a simple apparatus for 
fastening down the file while being cut. The men 
range themselves according to the kind of file which 
they are cutting, each man confining himself pretty 
nearly to one size of tooth, and all placing themselves 
in the gradation of these sizes. 

The file being slightly strapped down, the cutter 
takes a sharp tool or chisel in tlie left hand and a ham- 
mer in the right. This tool is a very hard, sharp, and 
tough piece of steel, having an edge fitted to produce 
the required kind of tooth, and a head to receive the 
blow of the hammer. The hammers employed (the 
heaviest of which weigh about nine pounds each) have 
the handle placed in a remarkable manner with re- 
spect to the head, being adapted at such an angle, 
that the cutter can, while making the blow, pull the 
hammer in some degree towards him, and thus give 
a peculiarity to the shape of the tooth. If the file is 
a flat one, or has one or more flat surfaces, the cutter 
places the small steel tool on it at a particular 
angle, and with one hammer-blow cuts an indenta- 
tion. He then, by a minute and almost imperceptible 
movement, changes the place of the tool, and makes 
another cut parallel to, and a short distance from, the 
first ; then a third, a fourth, and so on to the end of 
the file, shifting the file slightly in its fastening as he 
proceeds. Generally the file is cut doubly, one set of 
cuts crossing the other at an angle more or less acute. 
In this case he reverses the position in which he holds 
the cutting tool, and proceeds as before. If the file be 
round or half-round, or have a curved surface of any 
kind, he still uses a straight-edged cutting-tool ; but 
as this can only make a short indentation, he has to go 
round the file by degrees, making several rows or 
ranges of cuts contiguous one to another. 

Such is the art of file-cutting ; and it contains many 
points worthy of remark. In the first place, the angle 
at which the cuts are made depends greatly on the 
purpose to which the file is to be applied, and is made 
an especial object of the cutter's attention. In the 
next place, the cut is not a mere indentation, made 
without reference to form ; it is a triangular groove of 
particular shape, the production of which requires a 

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must discriminating tact in the management both of 
the hammer and of the cutting-tool. Then again, the 
strict parallelism of the several cuts can only be 
brought about by practised accuracy of hand and eye, 
since there is no guide, gauge, or other contrivance 
lor regulating the distance. In a round file, too, the 
several rows or cuts are brought side by side in such 
an exact manner, that it is difficult to conceive them 
to be formed singly and by hand. As an instance of 
what skill and long practice can effect in this respect, 
we have before us a file about ten inches loii£, flat on 
one side and round on the other ; the flat side is cut 
with a hundred and twenty teeth to an inch, so that 
there are about twelve hundred teeth on that side; 
the round side has such an extent of curvature, that it 
lcquired eighteen rows of cuts to compass it; each 
little cut on this side is not much above a twentieth of 
an inch in length ; and the number is thus so great, 
that for the whole tile there are twenty-two thousand 
rut?, each made with a separate blow of the hammer, 
and the cutting-tool being shifted after each blow ! 

It may well be asked — why is not this done by a 
machine? Machines in great number have been sug- 
gested, in France, in England, and in the United 
States : some by mere theorists, some by practical men ; 
some have never extended beyond the drawn plans, 
while some have actually been set to work. Yet for 
some reason or other all these have failed to maintain 
their position : they have been tried, commented on, 
admired, and rejected. Not long ago a very ingeni- 
ous machine, invented by a gentleman of high mecha- 
nical skill, was talked of highly in respect to its fitness 
for this purpose. But we believe that at the present 
time the whole of the files made at Sheffield (the head- 
quarters of the trade) are cut by hand. The grounds 
of this want of success involve matters too technical 
for us to enter upon here ; but we believe that one 
difficulty lies in this point— that if one part of the file 
happens to be in the slightest degree softer or narrower 
than the rest, any machine employed would make a 
deeper cut there than elsewhere ; whereas a workman 
who has been employed in the trade from a boy (and 
none others, it is said, can acquire the requisite skill) 
can feel instantly when he arrives at any variation in 
the quality or condition of the steel, and at once adapts 
the weight of his blow to it. 

When the files are cut, they are brought into the 
warehouse to be stamped with the corporate mark of 
the 'firm. They are next hardened, the steel having 
been before purposely rendered soft for the facility of 
cutting. This hardening involves details of some 
nicety, and the proper working of the file depends a 



good deal on the manner in which it is done. In one 
of the buildings is a long tank or trough, containing 
a saline liquid, and behind this are six hearths for 
heating the files. When each file has been heated to a 
certain tcmjierature, it is plunged suddenly into the 



liquid, and while yet warm is straightened by a small 
apparatus at hand. A mixture ot alegrounds, salt, anil 
other substances is also employed during this process. 
The files are then scrubbed clean by women with 
sand and water ; and lastly pass into the hands of the 
foreman, who tests every file singly in a way which 
brings both the hearing and the touch into exercise. 
He strikes the file gently on a piece of hard steel, and 
also rubs it gently 'from end to end; from the sound 
he judges whether the internal quality of the steel is 
good ; and from the tremulous movement or friction 
he judges whether it is tempered to the degree of 
hardness required; nay, it is said that, even if deaf, an 
experienced man could tell this by the tremulous mo- 
tion given to his fingers and wrist 



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[Old Timber Houses at Coventry.] 



ANCIENT COVENTRY. 



Coventry as it is, though, from the appearance of 
its overhanging timber houses and narrow streets, it 
might seem to have undergone little change beyond 
that which time produces, is a very different place from 
Coventry as it was. It is still, indeed, entitled to be 
called a city, and has a county of its own, seven miles in 
length and twenty miles in circumference ; but it is 
no longer " the third city in the realm," "the Chamber 
of Princes," the favoured city of kings and nobles, 
resorted to for the magnificence of its ecclesiastical 
establishments and the splendour of its annual shows. 
The lofty embattled wall which surrounded the city, 
with its towers and gates, has been levelled to the 
ground ; its great priory and its cathedral, with their 
splendid architecture and sumptuous decorations, have 
been swept away ; its monastery of Grey Friars, and 
its monastery of White Friars* are gone "with all 
their trumpery;" its lofty cross, of beautiful Gothic 
architecture, is no longer there. The visitors, on 
horseback and on foot, who crowded the city and put 
to proof the accommodation of its great inns, are no 
longer seen. Still there are remains of the architec- 
tural glories of Coventry exhibited in its ancient 
churches, its Guild-hall, and that old timber architec- 
ture which, as the city has never suffered the cala- 
mity of a great fire, still constitutes a larger part of 
the streets of Coventry than of almost any other of the 
ancient towns of England. Leland, writing in the 
reign of Henry VIII., says, "There be many fair 
streets* well builded of timber ; there be divers fair 
suburbs without the walls." Old, dingy, and neglected, 
the houses are not now, indeed, so fair as then, when 
they were comparatively new and fresh, when the 
plaster was carefully whitened, and the timbers were 
painted, as well to make them durable as handsome. 
The picturesque forms of the timber frariie-work still 
remain, but imagination is left to fill up the effect 

no. 771. 



which would be produced, when, on occasions of pomp 
or festivity, a flag or pendent streamed from every gable 
pinnacle, and green boughs waved on every balcony. 

On entering the city, the appearance of the streets 
at once indicates its high antiquity. The prosperity of 
the place appears in the beginning to have been chiefly 
owing to Leofric, fifth Earl of Mercia, who founded a 
monastery there, and bestowed many privileges on the 
town, of which he was the lord. Earl Leofric's wife 
was the celebrated Lady Godiva. The old legend of 
her riding naked through the city seems to rest on no 
good authority. Leofric died in 1057, and the strange 
and improbable story is not mentioned in any known 
writer earlier than Matthew of Westminster, who 
was living in 1307, 250 years afterwards. The lord- 
ship afterwards became vested in the Earls of Chester, 
the Earls of Leicester, arid, in the reign of Edward 
III., in the Earls of Cornwall, when, being thus 
annexed to one of the royal titles, Coventry became an 
especial object of royal favour. Edward the Black 
Prince often resided there. 

The wall was begun in 1355, by authority of a 
licence granted twenty-seven years before by Edward 
III. The thickness was nine feet ; there were thirty- 
two towers suitable for defence erected at different 
points, and there were twelve gates. The circum- 
ference was three miles. It was nearly forty years 
before the wall was entirely coTnpleted. The wall was 
pulled down by order of Charles II., in consequence 
of Coventry having set at defiance Charles I. and his 
army when he appeared before the gates and de- 
manded admission. In pulling down the wall, the 
first breach was made July 22, 1602, and by the 
aid of five hundred men, in rather more than three 
weeks, the wall, with the towers, was levelled, but 
most of the gates were left standing, and one or two 
of the smaller gates yet remain. 

In 1397 Richard II. selected Coventry for the great 
trial by combat between the Duke of Hereford (after- 



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[April 6, 



wards Henry IV.) and the Duke of Norfolk. Gosford 
Green was the spot chosen for setting out the lists, and 
a magnificent display there was, according to the pic- 
turesque description given hy Holinshed. At the 
moment of the commencement of the combat, Richard 
put a stop to it, and banished both the combatants, 
Hereford for a term of years and Norfolk for life. 
(See Shakspere'B * Richard II.,' Act I.) Holinshed's 
description of the lists and the proceedings is given in 
Knight's * Pictorial Shakspere,' at the end of Act I. 

That lofty and beautiful piece of work, the steeple 
of St. Michael's church, was begun in 1373, and 
finished in 1395. The cost was chiefly borne by 
William and Adam Botoner, each of whom was several 
times Mayor of Coventry. The square tower is 136 
feet high, and supports, on eight arches springing 
from the pinnacles, an octagon 324 ^ eet n ^ n » fr° m tne 
inside of which the spire, fluted and embossed, rises to 
the height of 139 feet 9 inches. The entire height is 
therefore 308 feet. It is altogether as striking in its 
general character as it is delicately symmetrical in its 
proportions and chaste in its ornaments. The body of 
the church is supposed to have been erected in the 
reign of Henry V I. The whole of the exterior has an 
air of grandeur. In the interior the centre is divided 
from the aisles by clustered columns supporting lofty 
arches. The ceiling is of oak, ribbed and carved. 

Trinity church, though it suffers by comparison with 
its neighbour St. Michael's, is yet a handsome struc- 
ture. The form is that of a cross. A Bquare tower, 
99 feet high, rises from the centre, and is surmounted 
by a spire 132 feet high. It was appropriated to the 
Prior of Coventry in the 44th year of Henry III. 

St. John's church is also ancient, but still smaller 
than Trinity. 

The Priory, which was founded by Earl Leofric, in 
the reign of Edward the Confessor, about 1043, was 
for twenty-four monks of the order of St. Benedict, 
with the privilege of choosing an abbot from among 
themselves, but after a short time the title of abbot 
was changed for that of prior. The priory was sur- 
rendered to the commissioners of Henry VIII. in 
1538, and was soon afterwards ordered to be taken down. 
It stood on the south side of the river Sherburn. It 
appears to have been a large pile of buildings. In 1404 
Henry IV. held a parliament in the great chamber of 
the Priory. 

The Cathedral stood near the churches of St. Michael 
and Trinity, in a space called the Hill Close. It is 
said to have been a splendid edifice, built on the model 
of Lichfield Cathedral. The two churches and the cathe- 
dral, standing thus near each other, and seen without 
interruption from the area in which they were erected, 
must have formed a group as unusual as it was magni- 
ficent. The Cathedral was taken down at the same time 
as the Priory. Many earnest applications were made 
to Henry to spare the Cathedral, out in vain. 

The Bishop's Palace, which stood at the north-east 
corner of St. Michael's churchyard, was sold in 1647. 

The Grey Friars, or Friars Minors, arc supposed to 
have settled in Coventry about 1234. They obtained 
liberal contributions, and erected a monastery and 
church on the south side of Coventry, on land allotted 
them out of the manor of Cheylesmore, Edward the 
Black Prince allowing them " to take so much stone 
out of his quarry in the park of Cheylesmore, as they 
should have occasion to use for their building and 
walls." There are no remains of the habitable part of 
the buildings; but a fine steeple with a spire springing 
from an octagon, which belonged to the church, are 
still in existence. The Grey Friars were the institutors 
of the far-famed Coventry pageants, and the performers 
of the Mysteries which annually attracted such a con- 
course of persons to Coventry on the day of Corpus 



Christi. (See • Penny Magazine,' No. G71, vol. ii., New- 
Series.) The order was suppressed in 1538. 

The Carmelites, or White Friars, had also a monastery 
and church in Coventry. The order was suppressed 
in 1538, and the monastery and its possessions granted 
to Sir Ralph Sadler in 1545. Remains of the monastery 
now form part of the House of Industry. The church, 
which adjoined the city wall, without Newgate, is 
entirely gone. 

The Cross, in Coventry, which was of such celebrity, 
occupied the place of a former cross of less pretension, 
which was erected in 1423, and taken down in 1510. 
The new structure was erected a few years after- 
wards. It was of Gothic architecture, and of exquisite 
workmanship. The form was six-square ; each side 
was seven feet at the base ; the entire height was fifty- 
seven feet. It was divided into three stories, and had 
seventeen niches with statues. The pillars and arches 
were adorned with figures and other carved-work. 
The whole was painted and gilded, and on occasions of 
display flags waved from every pinnacle, displaying 
the arms of England, of the founder, of the different 
guilds, &c. It was repaired in 1C29, at an expense of 
323/., and again in 1669, at an expense of 276/. From 
this time, however, it seems to nave been neglected, 
and gradually fell into decay and ruin. The last frag- 
ments were taken away in 1771. 

Another of the glories of ancient Coventry was St. 
Mary's Hall, which fortunately yet remains. Coventry, 
in its "high and palmy state," was termed "The 
Chamber of Princes ;" and St. Mary's Hall, not only 
for the beauty of its workmanship and the splendour 
and variety of its decorations, but for the number of 
royal and noble persons who have sat within its walls, 
and partaken of the liberality of the mayor and citizens 
of Coventry, may be supposed to have contributed in 
an especial manner to procure for the city that honour- 
able title. The great hall is a noble room, twenty-one 
yards long and ten yards wide. The windows on every 
side are filled with painted figures and arms of kings, 
queens, and nobles, bishops, mayors of Coventry, and 
others. The hall also contains a piece of tapestry thirty 
feet long by ten feet high, extremely interesting, dis- 
playing Henry VI. and his courtiers, Queen Margaret 
and her ladies, and a variety of figures of saints, C hristian 
knights, allegorical figures of justice, &c, the whole 
arranged in two series of three compartments each. 

St. Mary's Hall was originally built in the early part 
of the reign of Henry VI. for the accommodation of 
the guilds of the city ot Coventry. As these guilds were 
sanctioned and protected by the mayor and aldermen, 
the hall was not only used by the different companies for 
purposes of business or festivity, but was applied to the 
same purposes by the corporation, and on the suppres- 
sion of the guilds it became the public hall of the city. 

Another of the characteristics of ancient Coventry 
deserves to be mentioned, as displaying the vast num- 
ber of persons who resorted to it in its prosperous days 
— " its great and sumptuous inns," as they are described 
by Harrison, "able to lodge two hundred or three 
hundred persons and their horses at ease, and thereto, 
with a very short warning, make such provision for 
their diet as to him that is unacquainted withal may 
seem to be incredible. And it is a world to see how 
each owner of them contendeth with other for goodness 
of entertainment of their guests, as about fineness and 
change of linen, furniture of bedding, beauty of rooms, 
service at the table, costliness of plate, strength of 
drink, variety of wines, or well using of horses." 

In those days the visits of kings and queens were 
frequent — Edward III. and his son the Black Prince, 
Henry IV., Henry VI. and Queen Margaret, Richard 
III., Henry VII., Henry VIII., Elizabeth— as well as 
those of nobles and other dignified and rich persons. 



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131 



USES OF THE HAZEL. 



The hazel may be ranked among those trees which 
render more service as articles of food than as sources 
of timber ; but it is nevertheless useful in various 
other ways; and an abstract of these uses, from the 
descriptions by Mr. Loudon and other writers, may not 
be uninteresting. 

Generally speaking, the hazel is a shrub or low tree, 
but one variety is a timber-tree of middle size. The 
kind which produces the common hazel-nut grows to 
the height of about twenty feet. The bark is ash- 
coloured, and sometimes cloven on the trunk ; but on 
the branches it is of a clear bright brown, frequently 
spotted with white. The leaves are roundish, stalked, 
and alternate, darkish green on the upper surface and 
lighter beneath. The rate of growth, under favour- 
able circumstances, is from one and a half to two feet 
in the first two or three years after planting; after 
which, if trained to a single stem, the tree grows more 
slowly, attaining the height of twelve feet in ten years, 
and never growing much higher unless drawn up by 
other trees. It grows well under the shade of other 
trees, but not under their drip. 

This tree is a native of all the temperate climates of 
Europe and Asia, and is found in every part of Great 
Britain, sometimes at so great an altitude as sixteen 
hundred feet. On the Alps the nut-trees are found at 
an altitude of nearly four thousand feet. Evelyn states 
that the hazel "affects cold, barren, dry, and sandy 
grounds ; mountainous and even rocky soils produce 
them ; they prosper where quarries of freestone lie 
underneath, as at Hazelbury in Wiltshire, Hazeling- 
field in Cambridgeshire, Hazelmere in Surrey, and 
other places ; but more plentifully if the ground be 
somewhat moist, dankish, and mossy, as hi the fresher 
bottoms and sides of hills, holts, and in hedge-rows." 
In Kent the hazel thrives best in a calcareous loam 
on chalk or rock; but in Scotland it is found on 
granite, basalt, and freestone. 

There are many passages in the early writers indi- 
cating that the hazel was familiarly known. We read 
in the thirtieth chapter of Genesis, that " Jacob took 
him rods of green poplar, and of hazel and chesnut- 
tree, and pilled white strakes in them, and made the 
white appear which was in the rods." The hazel-nut 
was known both to the Greeks and Romans, the latter 
especially making frequent mention of it. The hazel 
was said by Virgil to be considered by the Romans as 
injurious to vines, on account of its spreading roots ; 
and as the goat was equally injurious by browsing on 
the young shoots, the keepers of the Roman vineyards 
sought to remove both these evils by sacrificing the 
goat to Bacchus and roasting its entrails on hazel spits. 
The common hazel-nut and the filbert-nut are pro- 
duced from two varieties of the tree ; the former was 
by the Romans called nux Avellano, from the town of 
Avellino in Naples, where they have always been pro- 
duced in great abundance ; while the filbert was called 
the nux Pontica, from being found at Pontus. In later 
times the troubadours and old French romance-writers 
celebrated the hazel-bush and the hazel-nut in many 
of their songs. 

But the most remarkable feature in the past history 
of the hazel is that connected with the superstitious 
" uses" of the tree and its fruit. This superstition has 
been very widely spread. There is a passage in Evelyn 
which shows the popular belief in his time. After 
enumerating some of the uses of the hazel in the arts, 
he adds : — " Lastly, for riding-switches and divinaiory 
rods, for the detecting and finding out of minerals (at 
least if that tradition be no imposture), it is very won- 
derful, by whatever occult virtue the forked stick (so 
cut and skilfully held) becomes impregnated with 



those invisible steams and exhalations, as, by its spon- 
taneous bending from a horizontal posture, to discover 
not only mines, subterraneous treasure, and springs oi 
water, but criminals guilty of murder, &c. made out 
so solemnly, and the effects thereof, by the attestation 
of magistrates and divers other learned and credible 
persons (who have critically examined matters of fact), 
is certainly next to a miracle, and requires a strong 
faith. Let the curious, therefore, consult the philo- 
sophical treatise of Dr. Vallemont (Physique occulte, ou 
Traite de la Baguet divinatoire), which will at least en- 
tertain them with a world of surprising things." It is 
partly evident from the curious language adopted by 
Evelyn that he was half inclined to doubt the truth of 
these "surprising things;" but the general tone of 
feeling at die time was decidedly in favour of this kind 
of belief. The belief that certain gifted persons pos- 
sessed the power of discovering hidden water or metals 
by means of a divining-rod is as old as the time of the 
Romans; but this potent wand was not always made of 
hazel, or even of wood ; it was sometimes made of brass 
or other metal. A technical name, rhabdornancy, was 
coined in the fifteenth century to express this art, the 
word implying " divination by a staff or rod." Persons 
made a trade by this imposture, and called themselves 
rhabdologists or rhabdomists. The prophet or diviner 
took a hazel-rod, which was either curved or forked, 
and held it by the two ends so that its curvature should 
be inclined outwards. If the person who held the rod 
possessed the power of rhabdomancy, and approached 
any metallic vein or other magnetic substance, or 
came near them, a slow rotatory motion of the rod en- 
sued in different directions, according to particular 
circumstances. In other cases the rod was peeled, and 
then laid on the palm of the hand, with the butt end of 
the twig on the pulse of the wrist ; and the divinor 
moved slowly along till the rod pointed to the desired 
place; the rhabdomist feeling, at the same time, either 
a violent acceleration or retardation of the pulse, and a 
sudden sensation of great heat or great cold. 

Sir Walter Scott makes use of this superstition in 
reference to Dousterswivel's pretended search for gold. 
Several instances of the use of the hazel divining-rod 
are recorded in the earlier volumes of the 4 Gentle- 
man's Magazine,' relating to the former half of the 
last century. In the seventeenth century the follow- 
ing description of the mode of proceeding was given : 
•• The finding of gold which is under the earth, as of 
all other mines of metal, is almost miraculous. They 
cut up a ground-hazel of a twelvemonth's growth, 
which divides above into a fork, holding the one 
branch in the right hand and the other in the left, not 
held too slightly or too strictly. When passing over a 
mine, or any other place where gold or silver is hidden, 
it will discover the same by bowing down violently, a 
Common experiment in Germany, not proceeding from 
any incantation, but a natural sympathy, as iron is 
attracted by the loadstone." 

There were a few other modes in which the hazel 
acted a part in superstitious observances. The ashes 
of the shells of the hazel-nut, applied to the back of a 
child's head, were supposed to turn the child's eyes from 
grey to black. One old herbalist says : — " Some doe 
hold that these nuts, and not wallnuts, with figs and rue, 
was Mithridatca' medicine, effectuall against poysons. 
The oyle of the nuts is effectuall for the same purposes. 
If a snake be stroke with a hazel wand, it doth sooner 
stunne it than with any other strike ; because it is so 
pliant that it will winde closer about it ; so that, being 
deprived of their motion, they must need die with 
paine and want; and it is no hard matter, in like 
manner, to kill a mad dog that shall be strook with an 
hazel sticke, suah as men use to walk or ride withall." 

But we will proceed to uses more practical and un- 
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equivocal. The hazel-tree, in its wild state, affords 
protection to various small birds by its numerous 
tranches. Considered as a timber-tree, the wood is 
never of sufficient size for building purposes ; but it is 
used in cabinet-making, and for various smaller and 
more delicate productions. It is tender, pliant, of a 
M'hitish red colour, and of a close, even, and full grain ; 
but it does not take a very bright polish. The roots, 
when of sufficient size, afford curiously veined pieces, 
which are used in veneering cabinets. The great use 
of the hazel, however, is for undergrowth. Being ex- 
tremely tough and flexible, the root-shoots are used for 
making crates, hurdles, props, wattles, walking-sticks, 
fishing-rods, whip-handles, ties for faggots, springs to 
catch birds, for fastening down thatch, and for withes 
and bands for various purposes. A strong fence is 
made by driving stakes into the ground and wattling 
the space between them with hazel-rods. Evelyn, 
while speaking of the hazel, says : — " The use of the 
hazel is for poles, spars, hoops, forks, angling-rods, 
faggots, cudgels, coals, and springs to catch birds ; 
and it makes one of the best coals, once used for gun- 
powder, being very fine and light, till they found alder 
to be more fit. There is no wood which purifies wine 
sooner than the chips of hazel. Also for withs and 
bands; upon which, I remember, Pliny thinks it a 
pretty speculation that a wood should be stronger to 
bind withall, being bruised and divided, than when 
whole and entire." After detailing other uses, he goes 
on to say : — " But even after all, the most signal honours 
it was ever employed in, and which might deservedly 
exalt this humole and common plant above all the 
trees of the wood, is that of hurdles (especially the 
flexible white, the red and brittle), not for that it is 
generally used for the folding of our innocent sheep, 
an emblem of the church, but for making the walls of 
one of the first Christian oratories in the world, and 
particularly in this island, that venerable and sacred 
fabric at Glastonbury, founded by St. Joseph of Ari- 
mathea ; which is storied to have been first composed 
but of a few small hazel-rods interwoven about certain 
stakes driven into the ground ; and walls of this kind, 
instead of laths and punchions, superinduced with a 
coarse mortar made of loam and straw, doe to this day 
enclose divers humble cottages, sheds, and outhouses 
in the country ; and it is strong and lasting for such 
purposes, whole or cleft, and I have seen ample en- 
closures of courts and gardens so secured." 

Hazel-rods, cut as nearly as possible of equal size, and 
varnished, form an admirable material for constructing 
rustic garden-seats and flower-baskets. Mr. Loudon 
gives two wood-cuts to show what may be effected in 
this respect. An agreeable variety may be produced by 
using the rods alternately peeled and unpeeled : or by 
mixing them with rods of some other Kind of wood. 
Unpeeled hazel-rods are, however, both handsomer 
and more durable than similar rods of any other kind 
of tree ; and a variety may be produced in them by 
choosing them with bark of different shades, or even 
staining them with a decoction of logwood or some 
other dye. Hazel-rods thus selected may be arranged 
in any fancy pattern for an arbour or other purpose ; 
and a Mr. Matthews, a carpenter residing at Trimley in 
Berkshire, has carried this curious kind of art so far 
as to produce a landscape, by the interlacing and inge- 
nious arrangement of differently coloured hazel-rods. 

The nuts, or fruit, are deemed the most important 
part of the ha^el-tree. Mr. M'Culloch states : — " Be- 
sides those raised at home, we import nuts from dif- 
ferent parts of France, Portugal, and Spain, but prin- 
cipally from the last. The Spanish nuts held in the 
highest estimation, though called Barcelona nuts, are 
not really shipped at that city, but at Tarragona, a 
little more to the south. Mr. Inglis says that the 



annual average export of nuts from Tarragona is from 
twenty-five to thirty thousand bags, of four bags to 
the ton. The cost was, free on board, in autumn, 1830, 
17*. 6d. a bag. The entries of nuts for home consump- 
tion amount to from 100,000 to 125,000 bushels a year ; 
the duty of 2s. a bushel producing from 10,000/. to 
12,500/. clear." Evelyn says that in his time hazel-nuts, 
though considered unwholesome to those who were 
asthmatic, were " thought to be fattening ; and, when 
full ripe, the filberts especially, if peeled in warm water, 
as they blanch almonds, make a pudding very little 
if at all inferior to what our ladies make of almonds." 
The kernels have a mild farinaceous, oily taste, agree- 
able to most palates. A kind of chocolate has been 
prepared from them ; and they have been sometimes 
maae into bread. The expressed oil of hazel-nuts, 
called nut-oil ; is little inferior to that of almonds ; it 
is best made in the middle of winter, as the nut yields 
little oil if made sooner ; and if made later, the oil 
is apt to become rancid ; but there is not much of it 
maae in this country. 



Hungarian Yea tt. — The yeast prepared by the Hungarians 
will keep for a whole twelvemonth. During the summer sea- 
son they boil a certain quantity of wheateu bran and hops in 
water. The decoction is not long in fermenting : and when this 
has taken place they throw in a sufficient portion of bran to 
form the whole into a thick paste, which they work into balls : 
they are afterwards dried by a slow heat When wanted for 
use they are broken, and boiling water is poured upon them : 
having stood a proper time, it is decanted, and in a fit state fox 
leavening bread. The Romans prepared their yeast much in the 
same way — taking wine in a state of fermentation, and working 
up a given quantum of the flour of millet with it; the paste thus 
obtained was made into balls and dried. It often happens that 
the yeast, the leavened dough, or the dough itself, will become 
acid in summer, and acidulate the bread : this may be reme- 
died by tlurowing some fingersful of carbonate of magnesia in 
the yeast or paste. 

Coutmercial Navy of Eastern Africa. — In approaching thr 
land (at Patta), we were forcibly struck by the contrast In the 
coasting-trade carried on here, and the cheerless absence of it 
which we had observed in parts that we bad lately visited, «vbere 
man seeks to thrive solely by the sale of his fellow-creatures, 
and impiously (I conceive the word not ill applied) neglects the 
cultivation of the soil which nature has so liberally endowed. 
In all directions the large boats, or, as they are called, dows, 
were seen, principally freighted with the produce of the land. 
coasting their way along shore. Their extraordinary build did 
not fail to attract our atteution. They are generally sixty feet 
long and fourteen broad, their head terminating in a long point, 
and their stern in one not much shorter ; and as they are built 
like a wedge, so, on grounding and being left by the tide, or 
hauled up on purpose, they require to be shored in that position 
by logs, which they always carry. Their planking is more fre- 
quently secured to the ribs by Cairo lashibgs than by nails or 
bolts ; and with some the seats or beams projected a short dis- 
tance through the side, like those of Delagoa boats. Their huge 
square sail, of canvas or matting, has a yard above and below, with 
braces, and three or four bow-Tines ; and, notwithstanding their 
uncouth appearance, they are very swift, and sail much closer to 
the wind than most vessels. They are always well manned, and 
generally pull with sixteen oars or paddles, unless when in shoal 
water ; they then prefer the employment of long slender poles 
used against the ground for propelling their canoes. In the 
management of these poles they show great dexterity, and it 
requires much practice to equal them. The dows, when large, 
have sometimes a small canopied space near the stem, on which, 
when prosecuting their voyage, the turbaned old chief is often 
seen standing and issuing his commands. Not a single instance 
have I known of one without an ornamental circle painted or 
carved on either bow or stern. These vessels are employed in 
the coasting-trade, in which grain is the principal article ; and 
likewise communicating between the islands of Zanzibar and 
Pemba and the main. — Captain T. Bottler '* Foyayt of Ditcovtitf 
t% Africa and Arabia. 



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[Court-yard of TatterwU's.] 



AUCTIONS IN LONDON.— No. III. 

[Concluded from p. 1070 

Thb general features of an auction-room are of course 
pretty much the same in London as in every other part 
of the country, but there is one very striking exception 
— Tattersall's ; and which accordingly wc proceed to 
describe somewhat in detail. The name of Tattersali 
is familiar and respected throughout Europe ; and the 
circumstance implies, what the known history of the 
establishment confirms, that, apart from the magnitude 
and general probity of its transactions, there have been 
exhibited some peculiar characteristics on the part of 
its founders and managers which have honourably 
distinguished them from the mere horse-dealing fra- 
ternity. Now whether we look in the brief records 
that tell of the history of the founder, or wander 
through the place itself — now emphatically known as 
Tattersall's, we are not left long in doubt as to the 
nature of those characteristics. Richard Tattersali 
was training-groom to the second and last Duke of 
Kingston, brother of Lady Mary Wortley Montague, 
and husband of the notorious duchess, in whose service 
he remained till his noble employer's death in 1773. 
He then appears to have opened his auction-mart ; but 
the foundation of his fortune was laid by the sale to 
him of the racehorse Highflyer, for the enormous sum 
of 2500/. ; and, it is supposed, on credit, an evidence of 
the high character for integrity he must have already 
acquired. Of his personal qualities, perhaps the esta- 
blishment is the best testimony ; what Tattersall's is 
now, it seems to have essentially been from the very out- 
set, a place where men of honour might congregate 
without breathing, or at all events in but a greatly 
lessened degree, the pestilential vapour that usually but 
too often surrounds the stable ; where men of taste 
might enjoy the glimpses afforded of the most beautiful 
specimens of an exquisitely beautiful race, without 
being perpetually disgusted with the worst of all things 
— that of the jockey or horse-dealer. 



Familiar as the name of Tattersall's, however, is, 
there are no doubt thousands, even in London, who 
know not its locality. Let us state, then, that its en- 
trance will be found at the south-eastern corner of St. 
George's Hospital (opposite Hyde Park gates) ; and 
as we pass through it downward, for the way slopes, 
we see before us the "Turf," a tap-room for the 
throngs of grooms, jockeys, and poorer horse-dealers 
and horse- fanciers. On our left we find the new Sub- 
scription Room, fitted up in the interior with desks, 
and ornamented with a portrait of Eclipse. Here the 
wealthier and more aristocratic classes, who in a great 
measure, dispense law and fashion, and opinion m all 
that concerns horse-breeding, racing, and betting, 
congregate in exclusive privacy, and on particular 
occasions a stirring scene is presented both within 
and without the walls of this building. " Let us sup- 
pose that the two thousand guineas stakes have been 
run for, and the winner is up as a favourite for * the 
Derby.' It is a day for re-modelling or for making 
4 a book/ There is flutter and bustle and excitement 
ever in the penetralia of the Subscription-room, but 
the hubbub in the court defies description. All are 
eager, excited in earnest, even savage. Short and 
sharp are their exclamations, and in a language which 
the disciples of Irving might have been excused, had 
they mistaken it for one of the unknown tongues. 
* Hedging,' * levanting,' 'a hundred ponies to one,' 
and a triple bob-major rung on all the devil-may-care 
names of the whole list of horses entered for the Derby. 
This is the augury of coming events, but what passes 
when ' the struggle is over, the victory won V Why, 
in the words of an older and better song, there's 
nobody knows,' at least nobody but the initiated. On 
the awful • settling day' the doors are shut on the pro- 
fanum vulgus, and the betters pay, receive, or make 
themselves scarce among themselves. It is quite use- 
less for any one who has not the entree to attempt to 
catch a notion of what passes; but scandal-mongers 
do say that a peculiar set of philosophers, great ob- 
servers of life, may be noticed on such days hovering 



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in the neighbourhood — the sheriffs officers for the 
county of Middlesex.' * 

Let us now pass into the court-yard, the great busi- 
ness place of Tattersall's, the Auction Mart so re- 
nowned through all the breadth and length of horse- 
loving, horse-breeding, horse-racing Europe; and 
which from all parts sends hither its representatives, 
wlien the more important sales are going on, and, with 
a confidence justified by the known character of the 
house, commissions the proprietor himself to procure 
for the nobles and gentry of the Continent fresh. sup- 
plies for their studs of the finest English horses. Our 
view shows the general aspect of the court-yard. 
That domed structure in the centre gives elegance to 
an humble but important appendage — a pump. The 
fox, we presume, belongs to the poetry ot Tattersall's, 
suggesting, as it does, breezy rides over hill and dale 
and far-stretching moorlands. The bust above, of 
George IV., refers to more specific facts of which the 
establishment can boast ; it is a type of the lofty pa- 
tronage that has been acceded to the house from its 
earliest days. The bust represents the first gentleman 
of Europe, as he has been called absurdly enough, in 
his eighteenth year, when the prince was a constant 
attendant at Tattersall's. Since then no important 
name in sporting annals but could be found among 
the list of visitors. Around three sides of the court- 
yard extends a covered-way ; at the extremity of one 
side stands the auctioneer's rostrum, overlooking the 
whole area. The stable, where the horses to be sold 
are kept in the interim, is close at hand, and excites 
attention by its size and admirable arrangements for 
light and ventilation. The ranges of ordinary stabling 
are also admirable specimens of what has been done in 
modern times to secure the health and comfort of their 
stately inhabitants. The public days are the Mondays 
in each week through the yoar, with the addition of 
Thursdays in the height of the season. The horses of 
the chiet sale, that of the Monday, arrive on the Friday 
previous. When the settling time arrives, great are 
the bustle and excitement that prevail throughout 
Tattersall's. Vehicles of all kinds dash to and fro in 
incessant motion, or linger altogether inactive in rows 
about the neighbourhood, while their masters are 
bidding for a good hunter or a pair of carriage-horses. 
A more motley assemblage than the buyers or lookers- 
on at such times it would be impossible to find. 
Noblemen and ambitious costermongers, bishops and 
blacklegs, horse-breeders, grooms, jockeys, mingling 

})romiscuously with the man of retired and studious 
labits fond of riding and breeding the wherewithal to 
ride, tradesmen about to set up their little pleasure- 
chaise or business-cart, and commercial travellers, whose 
calling has inoculated them with a passion for dabbling 
in horse-flesh, and who, in their inns on the road, talk 
with great gusto and decision of all that pertains to 
Tattersall's, on the strength of some occasional half- 
hour's experience in the court-yard. 

Whatever the advantages attending the maintenance 
of races, which are said to be the very corner-stone of 
the system of English improvements in horse-rearing, 
and therefore of all such establishments as the one in 
question, there can be no doubt that there are such se- 
rious accompanying evils, as may well make it a question 
whether entire abolition of the pastime, national though 
it be, will not be the preferable course, if those evils can- 
not be got rid of. The worst is the bctting-book-making 
system, which the writer from whom we have trans- 
cribed a preceding passage thinks originated only in 
the last century. Holcroft relates the anecdote which 
led to this conclusion ; who say?, referring to the year 
1701 or 176 4 2 : — *' In addition to matches, plates, and 

* 4 London,' No. CXLVIII. — ' Tntt« sail's/ an amusing 
paper, to which we must express our obligations. 



other modes of adventure, that of a sweepstakes had 
come into vogue ; and the opportunity it gave to deep 
calculators to secure themselves from loss by hedging 
their bets, greatly multiplied the bettors, and gave un- 
common animation to the sweepstakes made. In one 
of these, Captain Vernon (Holcroft 's master) had en- 
tered a colt or filly ; and as the prize to be obtained 
was great, the whole stable was on the alert It was 
prophesied that the race would be a severe one ; for 
though the horses had none of them run before, they 
were all of the highest breed, that is, their sires and 
dams were in the first lists of fame. As was foreseen, 
the contest was indeed a severe one ; for it could not 
be decided— it was a dead heat ; but our colt was by no 
means among the first. Yet so adroit was Captain 
Vernon in hedging his bets, that if one of the two 
colts that made it a dead heat had beaten, our master 
would on that occasion have won ten thousand pounds ; 
as it was he lost nothing, nor would in any case 
have lost anything." Such was the commencement 
of the system that has been since attended in the hum- 
bler walks of life with the most pernicious conse- 
quences. How irresistible is the temptation to embark 
in a scheme which promises, under certain circum- 
stances — and these every one hopes to command — may 
be seen in the pot-house clubs that overspread the 
country, and which infest the metropolis to a degree 
that is positively fearful. Even youth itself is not 
secure from the immorality of the system ; '• a house in 
West Smithfield announces ' a Juvenile Derby Sweep, 
at 10*. 6d. each.'" But is all this necessary to horse- 
racing ? If that cannot be answered in the negative, 
the next query will be, and it may come in a legal 
shape — is horse-racing itself necessary to the develope- 
ment of all that is valuable in that beautiful animal? 
The writer in ' London' thinks the gambling is unne- 
cessary, and points out the means ot repression. The 
Subscription-room at Tattersall's is frequented by the 
61ite of the amateurs of the turf: it sets the fashion. 
If its members were to pass a resolution and enfou-e it, 
that no systematic gambling was to be allowed among 
them — that the * book-makers' were to be told to 
betake themselves to Crockford's and Jonathan's, the 
proper resort of gentlemen of their profession — the 
example would in no long time spread, through the 
medium of the motley s/^uad which throngs the Auction 
Mart, to catch a glimpse of the subscribers, and learn to 
imitate their deportment. Racing would become the 
pursuit of admirers of the horse exclusively — for the 
gambler cares not for the horse more than for his dice, 
or scrip and omnium. There is enough of pleasurable 
employment— of excitement in the breeding, acquisition 
and training of fine horses, and the uncertain contests 
of the course, without the spice of gambling. The 
patrons of the turf can keep it, what it has always 
been, a source of pleasure to themselves, a means of 
improving the national breeds of horses for all purposes, 
an annual festival to the whole people of England, and 
prevent it from continuing what it has been allowed in 
a great measure to become, a source of demoralization 
to thousands. If they, by their example, will but 
diffuse a healthy distaste for gambling through the bulk 
of sportsmen, the police will deal with the flash Derby- 
houses ; but so long as they allow undetected black- 
legs, trading book-makers, buyers and sellers of 
chances, to associate with and be in common estima- 
tion confounded with themselves, there is no possibility 
of checking the mischief." We hope all this may yet 
prove practicable ; but in the mean time cannot but 
ask — Is it certain that the great body of the patrons of 
the turf possess or desire for themselves such "healthy 
distastes ?" a very indispensable preliminary to their 
conveying them to others. 



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THE PRESERVATION OF TIMBER. 

Many animals are occasionally afflicted with diseases 
of an extraordinary kind, arising from the growth of 
vegetable substances within them ; the vital organs 
being by degrees so eaten away or impaired as to ter- 
minate the existence of the animal. A vegetable fun- 
gus has been found attacking a species of West Indian 
wasp, and another has been detected in the silkworm ; 
the animal in each case being almost eaten away by 
the growth of the vegetable within it. The peculiar 
effects designated mildew, smut, &c. are in like man- 
ner the results of fungous growth ; and such is like- 
wise the case in respect to dry-rot, that premature de- 
cay of timber which for so many years has attracted 
the attention of practical men. 

The dry-rot in timber appears like a disease which, 
by decomposing the fibres, deprives the wood of all 
strength, and in a space of time more or less extensive 
reduces it to a mass of dry dust. This disease does not 
seem to have attracted much notice until the middle of 
the last century ; and even long after then the matter 
was not regarded as of serious importance. At length, 
however, the premature decay of many of the royal 
ships attracted general notice, and inquiries were in- 
stituted in various quarters as to the cause of it. In 
1810 the Queen Charlotte, a first-rate ship of war, was 
found to have the ends and joints of the beams covered 
with a mouldy, fibrous, and reticulated crust, consti- 
tuting dry-rot. Theories and proposals emanated 
from all quarters, every one suggesting a mode of cure 
or of prevention, but all failing, because the nature of 
the disease was not at that time properly understood. 
At first it was not known whether common rot and dry- 
rot were the same; but in more recent times the points 
of difference between them have been clearly snown. 

If a post of wood be driven into the ground, sea- 
soned or unseasoned, it will speedily begin to decay 
just at the surface of the ground, or, as it were, 
between the earth and the air. If driven into the 
earth through water, as in a pond, the decay will com- 
mence at the surface of the water, or, as it is techni- 
cally expressed, "between wind and water;" whilst 
all that is above water and all that is constantly in the 
water, as well as the part in the earth, will remain 
sound. In these cases the rot begins externally and 
progresses inwards. But if the same post be well 
charred, or covered over with a thick coating of paint 
or varnish, no such effect will be produced externally, 
the coating being sufficient to protect it against the 
action of the weather. If, however, the post happen 
to be a green and unseasoned piece of wood, in no 
great length of time it will, even though tarred or 
painted, be found in a decaying state internally* whilst 
the outer surface appears uninjured, although in course 
of time this too becomes affected. The wood swells, 
changes its colour, and emits gases which have a 
mouldy or musty smell. In the more advanced stages 
of the decay cracks appear in transverse directions ; 
and, lastly, it becomes pulverulent and forms vegetable 
earth. 

Thus the common rot is an external disease extend- 
ing inwards; while the dry-rot is an internal disease 
extending outwards : and it is plain that the causes of 
decay must be sought for in different directions. As 
to dry-rot, it became generally understood to result 
from the growth of a species of fungus or mushroom 
within the pores of the wood ; but it was not till within 
a comparatively recent period that it became satisfac- 
torily proved now the growth occurred. Some said 
that the dry-rot is a fungus ; others that it is the effect 
of a fungus ; and the latter seems now to be deemed 
the correct opinion. The first indication of dry-rot 
consists in small white points, from which a filamentous 



substance radiates parallel with the surface of the tim- 
ber ; and this is now considered to be the first stage of 
growth of the fungus-seed, the filamentous matter 
being the spawn. As this spawn gathers strength, its 
filaments insinuate into the crevices of the wood ; and 
these filaments being exceedingly fine, they readily 
pass down and between the tubes from which the wood 
is organized, forcing thorn asunder, and completely de- 
stroying the cohesion of the tissue. When the filaments 
of many fungi interlace, the radiating appearance can 
no longer be remarked ; but a thick, tough, leathery, 
white stratum is formed wherever there is room for 
its development, and from this a fresh supply of the 
destructive filament is emitted, which will gradually 
rot the whole mass of timber. 

The vegetable fungus may fairly be supposed to ob- 
tain a lodgment in the timber by the settlement or 
subsidence of the seeds of the fungus. The fine im- 
palpable powder that issues from the common " puff- 
Dall" will give some idea of the myriads of minute 
seeds which it encloses ; and if we suppose a similar 
countless host of seeds to result from the fungus tribe, 
it is not difficult to conceive how these may, by being 
wafted through the air, fall on the soil near where a 
tree is growing, and become absorbed with the sap. 
The seeds, it is supposed, are carried up the longi- 
tudinal tubes in a growing tree by the rising of the 
sap ; but so long as the vital principle in the sap of 
the tree remains in activity, the vegetation of the pa- 
rasite does not commence. Indeed it appears that the 
sap must be brought into a kind of putrefactive or fer- 
menting state before the germination of the seed be- 
gins ; and hence if the dry-rot is seen in a living tree, 
it is only in some decayed or diseased part. 

The production of dry-rot in timber being thus con- 
sidered to be the germination of fungus-seeds in wood- 
sap while in a fermenting or decomposing state, the 
prevention and cure seem to lie in the removal of the 
ferment : for it does not appear probable that we 
could prevent the seeds themselves from being carried 
up into the living tree. Under this view of the case, 
there have been three classes of expedients adopted for 
the prevention of dry-rot: — first, drying or seasoning 
secondly, immersion in earth, sand, or water ; thirdly, 
impregnation with a foreign substance which will re- 
sist putrefaction. 

It has been conceived that if the sap or juice of wood 
be thoroughly dried, it will not form a medium in 
which seeds will germinate, and hence the very com- 
mon and well-understood practice of 'seasoning.* 
Time will effect this seasoning, if the atmosphere be 
dry, and the wood be exposed to the free action of a 
current of air ; but if the wood be exposed to alterna- 
tions of heat and moisture, the sap does not dry, nor 
can the germination of the fungus be prevented. It 
used to be the custom to let ships of war remain two 
or three years on the stocks, while ' in the frame/ to 
season ; but it is now known that that method was 
wrong, since the rain which lodged in the bottom of 
the hull, being only partially and slowly removed, en- 
couraged the growth of the fungus. It is mainly on 
this account that our royal dockyards are now provided 
with excellent roofs over the building-slips, so that a 
ship on the stocks maybe shielded from rain overhead, 
while at the same time there is free access of air on all 
sides. The stacks of timber in the dockyards, too, in- 
stead of being placed as formerly on the ground, are 
raised on iron or stone supports, so as to let air circu- 
late beneath as well as around them. 

Sometimes timber is seasoned by charring or scorch- 
ing its surface, which dries up the sap ; but this in 
some degree injures the timber, and gives it a property 
of imbibing additional moisture. Kiln-drying, too, 
which is sometimes adopted, is not bo advantageous to 



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[April 6, 



the timber itself as natural drying in the open air. An 
attempt was made some years ago to combine with the 
kiln-drying process another, by which the pores which 
had become dry were filled up with some resinous or 
oily substance ; but it did not succeed, and every mo- 
dification of kiln-drying seems to have failed. In 
former times there existed a very prevalent opinion, 
that if a tree were felled in the winter there would be 
no sap in the pores, and that dry-rot would not ensue. 
Hence many ordonnances and enactments were made 
in France and England, regulating the season when 
oak-trees might be felled, and directing that ** the wind 
at the north " and the " wane of the moon " should be 
deemed favourable times for felling. But there is no 
decisive proof that this principle is worth much as re- 
spects the prevention of dry-rot. 

Steeping in fresh water, in earth, and in sand, have 
all been recommended as means of preventing dry-rot 
In the first of these modes the water appears to dissolve 
or liquefy the juices of the wood, and thus prepare 
them for drying in the open air. It is said that all the 
timber used in constructing ships at Brest is steeped 
for a long time in water before being used, and that 
the ships constructed of it are always free from dry- 
rot, ft is found that if the * butt' end of a log of 
timber be placed towards the current in a running 
stream, the juices become dissolved and washed out 
more readily than if the other end be presented towards 
the current, — a circumstance which seems to indicate 
something like a valvular structure in the pores of 
wood. Although the effect of immersion in running 
water was known or suspected long ago, yet it has only 
within a few years been applied in the British navy. 
A mast of a ship which nad been at the bottom of a 
pond fifty years was found perfectly sound and good : 
a frigate, previously infected with dry-rot, sank in 
Malta harbour, and, after lying there several months, 
she was found on being raised to be totally freed from 
the dry-rot: some logs of timber at Pembroke Dock- 
yard, previously infected, were cleansed and rendered 
healthy by immersion in water : and lastly, an infected 
ship, purposely sunk in Plymouth Sound, was restored 
to a healthy state by immersion in the water for eigh- 
teen months. These facts drew the attention of the 
Admiralty to the subject ; and sea-water is now deemed 
a valuable means of increasing the durability of timber 
for ships. It is supposed to act by destroying the 
vitality of the fungi which may be lodged in tlie pores ; 
but whether it prevents the fermenting or putrefactive 
action of the sap seems not yet to be quite determined. 

The last method we have to mention, viz. impreg- 
nation, is the one to which attention is most directed 
in ihe present day. This consists in extracting the sap 
from tne wood, and supplying its place witn substances 
which will not allow the fructification of the fungi. 
There have been a constant scries of inventions having 
this object in view for more than half a century past. 
Mackonochie, in 1803, impregnated timber in the fol- 
lowing manner: — He placed the wood in a steam-tight 
chamber, and subjected it to the action of steam, by 
which the air and gases were expelled both from the 
chamber and from the timber. Then, by condensing 
the steam, and repeating the process until the whole 
of the elastic fluids were withdrawn from the wood, 
and the non-elastic converted into vapour, the wood 
became freed from them. The wood was then plunged 
into oil, and the atmospheric pressure was allowed to 
act on it, whereby the oil was forced into the pores of 
the wood. Other substances instead of oil have been 
proposed for this purpose. One inventor proposed to 
saturate the wood with a solution of green vitriol, and 
then precipitate the vitriol by means of lime-water. 
Another succeeded in impregnating wood throughout 
with asphaltum. The kreosotc resulting from the dis- 



tillation of tar has been named as a fitting substance 
for effecting the impregnation. 

The process of Kyanizine involves something more 
of a chemical principle. Dr. Birkbeck, in a lecture 
which he gave on the subject, spoke thus of the steps 
whereby Mr. Kyan arrived at his results : — " Aware of 
the established affinity of corrosive sublimate for albu- 
men, he applied the former substance to solutions of 
animal matter, both acetous and saccharine, in which 
albumen was a component, with a view to preserve 
them in a quiescent and incorruptible state ; and ob- 
tained a confirmation of his opinions by the fact, that 
during a period of three years the acetous solution 
openly exposed to atmospheric air had not become 
putriu, nor had the saccharine decoction yielded to the 
vinous or acetous stages of fermentation, but were in 
a high stage of preservation. He conceived, therefore, 
that corrosive sublimate, by combination with albumen, 
was a protection against the natural changes of vege- 
table matter ; and thence inferred that, albumen form- 
ing a part of wood, the latter would be protected by 
converting that albumen into a compound of corrosive 
sublimate and albumen." This was the basis on which 
Mr. Kyan's arrangements were made. 

Sir William Burnett, physician-general to the navy, 
took out a patent about five years ago for a method {n 
which chloride of zinc is the active agent. His plan is, 
to provide a tank partly filled with a solution of the 
chloride, and to steep the wood (or canvas, cordage, 
or sailcloth) in the solution. Wood is steeped from ten 
to twenty-one days, according to the thickness of the 
pieces. Before being used for ship-building, or for 
tuilding or repairing houses, it is recommended that 
the wood be coated at all the parts where joints are tu 
be made, such as joist-ends, &c, with a paint made of 
oxide of zinc ground up with oil. 

In Uzielli's patent, of more recent date, the timber 
is placed upright on one end, and a flexible water- 

Eroof bag is adapted to its upper extremity. Into this 
ag is poured a solution of common salt, which, per- 
colating through the pores, is intended to drive the 
sap before it, both sap and solution dropping from the 
pores at the lower end. This is evidently only a modi- 
fication of the salt-water process of earlier times. 
Other chemical substances are used instead of salt to 
give hardness, flexibility, elasticity, colour, fragrance, 
and other qualities to the wood ; but the salt solution 
is the only one relating to preservation. 

In Payne's process the object is to give to the wood 
a kind of stony or granulated texture, by impelling 
into the pores, by exhaustion and pressure, solutions 
which there form solid compounds. 

Perhaps the nature of some of these processes may 
be best explained by giving an abstract of a paper read 
before the Institute' of Civil Engineers last year, on the 
preparation of the sleepers for the Hull and Selby 
Railway. There were two cylindrical tanks of wrought- 
iron, seventy feet long by six in diameter, together 
with a reservoir, two force-pumps, and an air-pump. 
The timber was placed in the tanks, and the air ex- 
hausted by means of the air-pump. A solution of cor- 
rosive sublimate was prepared, having a certain definite 
weight of the sublimate to a given quantity of water ; 
and this solution was admitted into the tanks. The 
force-pumps were then used, to force the solution into 
the pores of the wood, so that every pore became satu- 
rated with it. So long as air remains in the pores, it 
will resist the entrance of liquids, and hence the neces- 
sity for the use of an air-pump. With eighteen or 
twenty loads of timber in each tank, eight men were 
occupied five hours in the exhaustion and pressure, 
it was found that the solution had penetrated (o the 
very heart of the wood. One pound of corrosive sub- 
limate prepared about seventy cubic feet of timber. 



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tSphinxw, or Hawkmothi. 1,1,1. Achcrnnta utropoi ; 2, 2, Smerlnthut oeellatui ; 3. 3, Sphinx Ligustri ; 4, 4, 4, Smenutlmt Toimli; 
5, 6, 5, Sphecia apiformu; C, 6. Mucrogloswi Su- II at arum ; 7, Troch ilium CAuipiformt-.] 



CURIOSITIES OF BRITISH NATURAL 
HISTORY. 

British Moths. 

The "beauty and the delicacy of their plumage, its ful- 
ness, and the marbled arrangement and blending of 
varied tints of grey, brown, black, and different tones 
of yellow, render the moths of our island not inferior 
in attractiveness to the more gaily painted butterflies 
that court the bright sunbeams of summer. 

In general, the moths, as we well know, are noctur- 
nal in their habits. Like the owl, which so much 
resembles many of them in style of plumage, they 
remain concealed in their retreats during the day, 
quietly reposing till the growing darkness calls them 
forth to visit the dewy flowers, and revel in the enjoy- 



no. 772. 



ment of existence, till the dawning day drives tliem 
to their wonted lurking-places. 

When, however, we say that the moths are nocturnal 
in their habits, we must add that this law has its excep- 
tions; for we find one family to consist of species 
which are active only on the approach of evening and 
early in the morning,— a few being as diurnal as the 
butterfly, and flitting in broad day from flower to 
flower in quest of honeyed food. We allude to the 
family of Sphinxes, or Hawk-moths. 

The Hawk-moths (Sphingidse) are remarkable for 
their size, and the extent of their wings, which are 
extremely vigorous and well adapted for rapid flight. 
Their progression through the air resembles that of a 
hawk (hence the term Hawk-molh), or rather perhaps 
that of some of the humming-birds. Mr. Darwin says, 



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" The humming-birds seem particularly fond of shady 
and retired spots ; whenever I saw these little crea- 
tures buzzing round a flower with their wings vibrat- 
ing so rapidly as to be scarcely visible, I was reminded 
of tho Sphinx-moths ; their movements are indeed in 
many respects very similar." Among other names the 
Creoles in Cayenne and the Antilles term the hum- 
ming-birds Bourdons, in allusion to the humming of 
their wings ; and the Sphinx-moths have received for 
the same reason the name of Papillons-Bourdons. 

These moths have near the base of the external edge 
of the lower wings a stiff or scaly bristle in the form of 
a little spine, which passes into a sort of hook on the 
under surface of the first pair of wings, so as to main- 
tain them during repose in a horizontal or inclined 
position ; but this character occurs in other moths. 
The hinder wings are small. The antennae are pris- 
matic, and terminated by a minute leather or thread. 
The caterpillar is naked, cylindrical, always with six- 
teen feet, and mostly with a dorsal horn or taper ap- 
pendage near the extremity of the body; the sides of 
the body are almost invariably marked wiih oblique 
stripes. The remarkable attitude which the cater- 
pillars of the Hawk-moths often assume, resembling 
that of the fabulous sphinx of the ancients, suggested 
to Linncous the scientific term (genus Sphinx, Linn. ; 
family Sphingidce, Auct.) by which they are still deno- 
minated. In order to undergo their transformation 
and assume the pupa state these caterpillars descend to 
the ground. The pupa is naked and conical, and 
often, furnished with a detached horn extended beneath 
the breast, containing the spiral proboscis, which in 
some species is of extraordinary length. Some Hawk- 
moths, however, have it short, and in the pupa of those 
species this horn is wanting. We may here observe, 
that there is an interesting connection between the 
length of the tongue, or spiral proboscis, and the 
rapidity of flight, which merits attention. Such 
species as have this organ of great length, hover over 
tubular flowers, extracting the honey from the deep 
nectary, which they are thus enabled to reach ; and 
here again we are reminded of the humming-bird with 
its long suctorial tongue. 

The caterpillars of some species are capable of 
elongating and contracting the three anterior segments 
of the body in a very curious manner, as we observe in 
the proboscis of the elephant. These caterpillars un- 
dergo their transformation in a cocoon within a folded 
leaf on the ground ; the majority, however, descend to 
a considerable distance into the earth, and form an oval 
cell, where they assume the pupa state, to issue forth a 
perfect insect. 

With respect to great rapidity of flight and elonga- 
tion of the proboscis, one remarkable species, the 
Death's-head Hawk-moth, forms an exception. Con- 
sequently it cannot be considered as typical of this 
family ; yet such has a talented zoologist regarded it, — 
and why ? Because it carries on its thorax the sign 
and seal of the symbol which nature designed it to be, 
in impressing upon it the figure of the human skull, 
the emblem of death and the grave ; whilst the threaten- 
ing attitudes of the caterpillar, and the depth at which 
it buries itself in order to become a chrysalis, as if seek- 
ing Hades, add claims to its becoming the ill-omened 
representative of the family ! 

1. The Death's-Head Hawk-moth, or Bee Tiger 
Hawk-moth ( Acheron taatropos), Sphinx atropos, Linn. 

This magnificent species appears to be distributed 
over our island, and Europe generally ; its singularly 
marked thorax and the sound it emits have rendered it 
an object of terror with the superstitious, and to the 
evil influence of these dreaded Hawk-moths, which 
happened to make their appearance in great numbers 
in Brittany during the prevalence of an epidemic 



raging at the time with violence, the excessive morta- 
lity was popularly attributed. The squeaking noise 
which this insect utters it is difficult to account for ; 
Reaumur attributes it to the friction of the proboscis 
against the palpi. M. de Johet, however, found that 
when deprived of these organs the moth was still 
capable of uttering the noise, especially when the 
wings were quivered, and he supposes it to arise from 
their action upon the air contained beneath the scales 
of the thorax. M. Lorey conceived the noise to result 
from the rushing of the air through two tracheae at 
the base of the abdomen. Other opinions have been 
published, but none which give a satisfactory explana- 
tion. The insect, as ascertained by Mr. Raddon, is able 
to produce the sound before quitting the pupa-case. 
Another singularity connected with this insect is the 
circumstance of its attacking beehives, despoiling them 
of the honey, and scattering the rightful inhabitants in 
every direction. 

It is indeed very strange that, without sting or 
shield, and with no advantage except that of size 
and courage, this moth should be capable, singly and 
unassisted, of contending successfully with a horde of 
sting-armed insects, and driving them from their for- 
tress. 

The Death's-Head Hawk-moth varies from four to 
five inches in the expanse of its wings. The upper 
pair are brown varied with black. The disc is marked 
with undulating lines of black and ferruginous patches, 
and powdered with white. Hind- wings fulvous 
orange, with a narrow central and a broader indented 
bar running parallel with the hinder margin. Head 
and thorax brownish black, the latter with a large pale 
skull-like mark on the back. 

The caterpillar is at first dirty red, but afterwards 
becomes yellowish green, granulated with minute black 
tubercles on the back ; there are seven oblique stripes 
on the sides, each stripe being blue anteriorly, white 
posteriorly, and purple in the centre. It mostly feeds 
dv night, concealing itself in the day under leaves or 
clods on the earth ; the flowers and leaves of the potato 
and jasmine, and also the leaves of the woody night- 
shade, thorn-apple, &c, constitute its food. The moth 
appears at the end of September or beginning of 
October. 

2. The eyed Hawk-moth (Smerinthus ocellatus), 
Sphinx ocellatus, Linn. 

This beautiful species is widely distributed through 
England, but is rare in Scotland ; on the Continent it 
is abundant. It makes its appearance in May; it 
varies in the expanse of its wings from two inches 
and three-quarters to three inches and three-quarteTs. 
The fore-wings are of a pale rosy ash, variegated with 
pale chocolate brown and undulated marks of dusky. 
The hind-wings are of a rose pink, shaded off to grey- 
on the margin, and marked near the inner angle with 
a large black spot, with a pale blue ocellus, the middle 
being of a slaty black. The caterpillar is of a very 
pale green, with minute black tubercles, and eight 
oblique pale bars along the sides. The lateral spiracles 
are marked by rosy brown. It feeds on the willow and 
sallow, and occasionally on the apple, sloe, &c. The 
chrysalis form is assumed in September, and the moth 
appears in May. 

3. The Privet Hawk-moth (Sphinx Ligustri). 

This elegant moth is by no means uncommon, vary- 
ing in the expansion of the wings from three inches 
and a half to nearly five inches. The fore-wings are of 
an ashy colour tinged with roseate, and shaded and 
marbled with dusky brown. The hind-wings are of a 
pale rose-colour, darker at the base, with three black 
bands; the sides of the thorax are ashy white, the 
back black. The caterpillar feeds on the privet, lilac, 
elder, ash, &c. Its colour is green, with the caudal 



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horn black above and yellow beneath. On each side of 
the head is a black mark. The spiracles are orange, and 
there are seven oblique stripes on the sides, of purple 
and white. Towards the middle of September the 
caterpillar buries itself in the earth, and changes into 
a dark brown chrysalis. The moth appears in June or 
July. 

4. The Poplar Hawk-moth (Smerinthus Populi), 
Sphinx Popuh, Linn. 

This species is very common, occurring in England 
and the south of Scotland. Its expansion of wings is 
often more than four inches. The upper wings are of 
a delicate lilac grey, with undulations of brown. The 
base of the hinder wings is broadly ferruginous. The 
body pale lilac grey. The males have the markings of 
the wings deeper than the females. The caterpillar is 
pale green, sprinkled with minute white tubercles : the 
spiracles and membranous feet are reddish ; oblique 
lateral lines pale yellow. The food of the cater- 
pillar consists of the leaves of the willow-poplar and 
aspen : the moth appears from the end of June to the 
middle of August, and sometimes as late as September. 

5. The Hornet-moth (Sphecia apiformis). 

This small but very beautiful moth is of a brown- 
ish black : the head and palpi are orange coloured ; 
the thorax has a large orange patch on each side 
in front, and two ochre patches on the disc behind. 
The abdomen is ringed with orange and black. The 
wings are narrowly edged with ochre brown ; but 
everywhere else transparent, like the wings of a wasp 
or hornet. 

The caterpillar is thick and whitish ; and feeds upon 
the wood of the trunks of willow and aspen trees, to 
which it often occasions great damage. The pupa is 
elongated and of a dark chesnut colour ; this stage is 
assumed in April, and the perfect insect is produced 
at the end of June. 

6. The Humming-bird Moth (Macroglossa stella- 
tarum.) 

Of this interesting species three broods appear every 
year, namely, in April, June, and September, and 
specimens have been taken as late as Christmas ; 
indeed it is probable that some occasionally live 
through the winter. "This interesting species," says 
Mr. Curtis, " in the winged state freauents gardens, 
flying in the sunny weather between the hours of ten 
and twelve in the morning, and those of two and four 
in the afternoon. Its food is the nectar eous juice of 
tube-bearing flowers. This it extracts with amazing 
address by the assistance of its exserted spiral tongue, 
inimitably poising itself all the while on rapidly 
vibrating wings, whence its name of humming-bird. 
It is delightful indeed to an entomological eye to be- 
hold and contemplate the dexterity exhibited by this 
charming insect whilst it sails, all gaiety and grace, 
round the tall sprig of a larkspur, or other flower, 
probing to the very bottom every single tube, neglect- 
ing none, and trying no one twice.*' Fortunately the 
species is by no means of rare occurrence in nearly 
every part of the kingdom, so that opportunities of 
observing it are not uncommon. 

The expansion of the wings of this moth is nearly 
two inches ; they are of a dusky brown colour, with 
waved transverse bars of black. The hinder wings 
are orange coloured. The body is varied with yellow 
and black. 

The caterpillar is dark green, with a dusky line 
down the back, and a white lateral longitudinal line. 
Legs yellow. 

7. The Golden-tail Hawk-moth (Trochilium cyni- 
pi forme), Sphinx chrysorrhoea, Donov. 

This is a small species, and by no means common. 
It has been taken in the woods of Kent and Surrey; 
and about London and Cheltenham ; in Bedfordshire 



and Shropshire. It is of a blue-black colour ; on the 
head is a white stripe, and the collar and palpi are 
yellow. The thorax has a yellow stripe on eacn side, 
and the breast a yellow spot ; the abdomen has a yel- 
low mark at the base, and three yellow bands, the last 
of which is double in the male. The wings, which are 
transparent, like those of a gall-fly, have the veins 
and margins brown, glossed with blue and fulvous, 
and a transverse, lunate, central spot of orange mar- 
gined with black on the outside. Legs yellow. 

The caterpillar is whitish, with a brown head, and is 
found under the bark of the oak and birch. The in- 
sect appears in June. 



Education in Germany and America.— The two most strongly 
contrasted cases which can be found are probably those of Ger- 
many and the United States. In the United States, it is well 
known, a provision of university education is made as ample as 
that of schools for an earlier stage ; yet no one pretends that a 
highly finished education is to be looked for in that country. 
The cause is obvious. In a young nation, the great common 
objects of life are entered upon earlier, and every preparatory 

{)rocess is gone through in a more superficial manner. Seats of 
earning are numerous and fully attended, both in Germany and 
America, and they testify in each to a pervading desire of know- 
ledge. Here the agreement ends. The German student may, 
without being singular, remain within the walls of his college 
till time silvers his hairs ; or he has even been known to pass 
eighteen years among his books, without crossing the threshold 
of his study. The young American, meanwhile, satisfied at 
the end of three years that he knows as much as his neighbours, 
settles in a home, engages in farming or commerce, and plunges 
into what alone be considers the business of life. Each of these 
pursues his appropriate objects : each is right in his own way : 
but the difference of pursuit indicates a wider difference of sen- 
timent between the two countries than the abundance of the 
means of learning in each indicates a resemblance. The ob- 
server must therefore mark not only what and how many are 
the seats of learning, but who frequent them ; whether there are 
many, past the season of youth, who make study the business of 
their lives ; or whether all are of that class who regard study 
merely as a part of the preparation which they are ordained to 
make for the accomplishment of the commonest aims of life. 
He can scarcely take his evening's walk in the precincts of a 
university without observing a difference so wide as this. The 
great importance of the fact lies in this, — that iu crease of know- 
ledge is necessary to the secure enlargement of freedom. Ger- 
many may not, it is true, require learning in her youth for poli- 
tical purposes, but because learning has become the taste, the 
characteristic honour of the nation ; but this knowledge will in- 
fallibly work out, sooner or later, her political regeneration. 
America requires knowledge in her sons because her political 
existence itself depends upon their mental competency. The 
two countries will probably approximate gradually towards a 
sympathy which is at present out of the question. As America 
becomes more fully peopled, a literature will grow up within 
her, and study will assume its place among the chief objects of 
life. The great ideas which are the employment of the best 
minds of Germany must work their way out into action ; and 
new and immediately practical kinds of knowledge will mingle 
themselves, more and more largely, with those to which she has 
beeu, in times past, devoted. The two countries may thus fall 
into a sympathetic correspondence on the mighty subjects of 
human government and human learning, and the grand idea of 
liberty may be made more mauifest in the one, and disciplined 
and enriched in the other. — Mitt Martineatit * How to Observt — 
MoraU and Manner $' 



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ANIMAL MOTION.-No. VII. 



Running. — The object of calling into action the lo- 
comotive organs as we employ them in running, is to 
acquire a greater velocity than can be attained in 
walking. On investigation it is found that the same 
motions of the body recur after each double step, as in 
walking. In running, the time of action is divided 
into two periods, in one of which the body is supported 
on one leg, and in the other it is not supported on 
either, and this constitutes the principal difference 
between running and walking ; for in the latter the 
body is always supported either by one or both legs. 

Let us now consider the motions of the legs in run- 
ning, as we have before done in walking, and for that 
purpose let us trace their action from the beginning to 
the end of a step. When the hinder leg, on which the 
trunk was supported, having been extended to its 
greatest length, is raised from the ground and begins to 
swing forward, we observe that the foremost lee has 
not yet reached the ground, so that both legs are found 
swinging at the same time during a portion of the step. 
When the foremost leg reaches the ground, which it 
does in a vertical position, the trunk is supported on 
it, and the hinder leg continues to oscillate forwards, 
whilst the supporting leg, having turned on the ball of 
the foot as on a pivot, becomes stretched to its extreme 
length, and is in its turn raised from the earth before 
the swinging leg has reached it ; and when the latter is 
placed on the ground and is fully elongated, so as to be 
on the point of rising again, a double step has been 
accomplished, the single step evidently ending at the 
moment when the other leg reached the corresponding 
position. The effect of both legs swinging simulta- 
neously, though for a very short period, is, that in run- 
ning the duration of the step is less than the time of 
the naif-oscillation of the leg, whilst in quickest walk- 
ing it just exactly equals it, and in slow walking it is 
greater than this semi-oscillation. These effects will, 
perhaps, be made more intelligible by the annexed 
Fig. 1, where a represents slow walking, the straight 

Fig. 1. 




portions of the line being the times when both legs 
are on the ground; b represents quickest walking, 
wherein each leg succeeds the other in swinging without 
interruption ; and c running, wherein one leg begins to 



swing before the other has finished swinging. The 
forces which are employed in running, like those of 
walking, consist of extension, gravity, and resistance. 

We are not able to propel the centre of gravity 
horizontally in running, though the undulations are 
found by observation to bt less than in walking ; for it 
is clear that, as soon as both legs are lifted irom the 
ground, it must fall during some portion of the time it 
is unsupported, and so form a series of curves. If the 
legs were inflexible, the centre of gravity would de- 
scribe a scries of curves as in Fig. 2. The movements 




of the body in walking and running more nearly 
resemble each other according as the times wherein both 
legs are on the ground, in the former case, and both 
legs are in the air, in the latter, are diminished ; and 
the limit to which each of these motions continually 
approaches is, when the body is never without sup- 
port, but that support is never more than one leg. 
As the resistance oi the air to the motion of the body 
is greater in running than in walking, the trunk is 
more inclined in the path of motion, to keep it in a 
state of equilibrium. 

In order to find the amount of the vertical undula- 
tions of the body in running, the Messrs. Weber 
viewed the runner through a telescope adapted for the 
purpose. They estimated the undulations of the body 
to be from three-fourths of an inch to one inch and a 
quarter, and the time of a step to be from one-fifth to 
one-fourth of a second ; of this time the body swings 
freely in the air one-tenth, and falls one-fifteenth of a 
second. If we calculate the space through which the 
body falls in the same time, by the law of falling 
bodies, it will be found that tne centre of gravity 
descends about eight-tenths of an inch. 

It has been seen in No. VI., Fig. 1, that in walking, 
the period during which the trunk is supported is 
longer than that in which the leg whilst swinging is 
supported by the trunk. Now, in running, the reverse 
takes place, and the time in which the leg is resting 
on the ground is shorter than that in which it hangs 
suspended from the trunk. 

We will now illustrate these periods by a diagram. 
In Fig. 3, let the upper line represent the motion of 
the left, and the under line that of the right leg, in the 
act of running, the curved portions being the periods 
of the leg swinging in the air, and the straight the 



Fig.*. 




Seriods of its resting on the ground, which periods are 
efined by the cross lines. The figures 1, 0, denote that 
one or neither of the legs is on the ground. The line 
between the first spaces 1 and 0, at the left end of the 
figure, indicates the beginning of a step corresponding 
with the description already given, that is, the instant 
when the left leg is raised from the ground, and before 
the right has reached it 

We observe that the chords of the curved lines, 
which represent the periods whilst the legs are swing- 



ing, are sensibly longer than the straight lines ; and if 
we remember that the resting leg rises from the earth 
before the other touches it, we at once see that it could 
not be otherwise ; and it also follows, from the same 
reason, that the straight lines showing the portion of 
the step when the leg is on the ground, must be equi- 
distant from the extremities of the curves respectively 
opposite to them. 

In running, the square of the length of the extended 
leg is equal to the sum of the squares of the horizontal 



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space described by the centre of gravity, during the 
time the one leg rests on the ground, and of the height 
of the centre of gravity from the plane of motion, at 
the end of that time. 

When the forward swinging leg reaches the ground 
at the end of each step, it must be in a condition to re- 
ceive the falling trunk, and be prepared to project it 
from the ground, to swing again in the air ; for this 
purpose, the centre of gravity must be in the vertical 
line passing through the head of the thigh-bone and 
foot ; for if the centre fell behind this line, the runner 
would fall backwards; and if before it, he would 
fall forwards. Such being the law which is found 
to regulate the attitude of the body and leg in running, 
it is a matter of considerable importance that artists 
should understand this principle, together with all the 
other laws by which the locomotion of man and animals is 
governed. It was in consequence of his being ignorant 
of, or not attending to, these laws, that some of Flaxman's 
figures were drawn so unlike the reality, which is the 
more to be regretted because his drawings of the 
human figure are considered as studies by young 
artists. We give an illustration of this in Fig. 4, which 

Ftg.4. 




represents a man in the act of running, where the 
line acd, which passes through the centre of gravity, 
lies far behind the foot (6), the base of support, and 
being therefore unsupported, the man would fall back- 
wards. In fact, no person can be in the position of 
Flaxman's figure whilst in the act of running without 
falling to the ground. The same fault is observable 
in (Fig. 5) another of Fiaxman's designs, intended 
to represent a man just on the point of running: 
the line through the centre of gravity falls behind 
the foremost foot, and consequently if the hinder leg 
be raised, the man must inevitably tumble back- 
wards. 

In running, the length of a step increases much 
more rapidly than the time of it decreases, and hence 
we chiefly gain by passing over a greater space in a 
given time. Messrs. Weber found that when the time 
of the step was 0" .301, the length was about one foot, 
and when the time was diminished to 0".268, the 
length of step was about five feet, so that with a de- 
crease of only thirty-three thousandths of a second the 
velocity increased by more than a five-fold proportion. 
In fact the time of a step in running differs scarcely 
in a perceptible manner from that of quickest walking, 



it being nearly equal in both cases to the duration of 
a semi-oscillation of the leg. 




Running requires a vastly greater expenditure of 
muscular force than walking, and cannot be lonir 
maintained without completely exhausting the strength 

It appears that a man named Jackson very lately 
ran a mile in four minutes and fifty-four seconds, so 
that he passed over rather more than eighteen feet in 
a second, or at the rate of 12-3 miles in an hour, a 
velocity very rarely exceeded. * 

J<«*P™g> Springing t or Jumping.— In leaping, the 
object to be attained is different from that of runuinff 
In the latter we aim at taking the longest step in the 
least possible tune, but in the former we want to take 
the longest possible steps without regard to their 
duration, and the longer the step the greater will be 
the time m taking it In leaping with both legs at the 
same time, as in Fig. 6 and Fig. 7, there must be 

Figs.6^7. 




a pause between each step, and this is not resorted to 
as a mode of progression, but rather to accomplish a 



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single step of great length; for the expenditure of 
muscular action is so enormous, that a succession of 
steps with both legs, alternately resting on the ground 
ana lifted from it together, is rarely had recourse to, 
except for such purposes as leaping across rivulets, 
or narrow chasms, descending abrupt surfaces, &c. 

When the object in view is to maintain a mean uni- 
form progressive motion by leaping, the legs inter- 
change their offices alternately as in running. The 
step in leaping, like that in running, may be divided 
into two periods, during the first of which one leg 
rests on the ground, supports the body, and propels it 
upwards and forwards ; and during the second period, 
both legs swing in the air simultaneously. The undu- 
lations of the centre of gravity are greater in leaping 
than in walking or running, in consequence of the 
body being projected higher into the air, whereby the 
swinging leg is enabled to pass beyond the vertical 
line through the centre of gravity, and to perform the 
whole of its arc of oscillation before it is placed on the 
ground ; whereas in running it is arrested at the in- 
stant when it arrives at the vertical position ; and this 
constitutes the principal difference between the two 
motions. 

If we begin the step, as in running, at the moment 
when the hinder leg, being fully stretched, projects 
the trunk upwards and forwards, and itself quits the 
ground, we nnd the other leg still swinging, which it 
continues to do for a much longer time than in run- 
ning ; after the latter has reached the earth, it rotates 
round the ball of the foot, and from being in an ob- 
lique position in front of the body, it comes into a 
similar one behind it, the two extreme oblique posi- 
tions forming equal angles with the vertical. The first- 
mentioned leg has been all this time swinging, and so 
continues after the other has left the ground, and at 
length it comes to the earth obliquely, and rotates into 
the position with which we commenced our description. 

As the swinging leg is suffered to perform an entire 
oscillation, it follows that the duration of the step is 
greater in leaping than in running, but in consequence 
of the greater length of the step, the velocity in the 
former is not so much less than in the latter as might 
have been expected. For example, let us suppose the 
length of the step in running, as is found by experi- 
ment, to be five feet, and the time of the step to be 
0"* 268, also the length of the step in leaping to be 
6*485 feet, the corresponding time of which is 0"'404, 
then the velocity in running will be to the velocity of 

5- 6*485 

leaping as ^^ to jj^t or as 1 to 0-718. Thus 

we observe the velocity of leaping to be less than that 
of running, both being estimated at the greatest 
speed ; but then in leaping, the steps, being taken in 
greater time, do not excite the pulsations of the heart, 
or increase the number of respiratory movements 
so much as in running; and persons when fatigued 
with running find that if they wish to relieve the 
respiratory and arterial systems without materially 
slackening their speed, they can accomplish this ob- 
ject by converting the running into a leaping move- 
ment, better than by converting the quick into a slow 
running. 

It is found much safer to descend the sides of steep 
hills with rapidity by means of small leaps than by 
running, because in the former the foot may be placed 
on and pressed against the ground in advance of the 
trunk, and so arrest its motion and prevent the body 
from falling to the ground, which cannot be done in 
running. 

The movement in leaping, being of all the foregoing 
motions most under our control) is varied by the 



peculiar manner in which the step is made, and is 
therefore not so susceptible of accurate demonstration 
as those of walking and running. 

The laws which regulate the locomotion of man 
admit of mathematical analysis, and those of walking 
and running are found to be as iixed as those which 
govern the solar system. The reader who wishes to 
pursue this subject will find the mathematical details 
in the valuable work of Messrs. Weber, already re- 
ferred to, or the result of their labours condensed in 
the article 'Motion,' in Todd's •Cyclopaedia of Ana- 
tomy and Physiology.' 



THE PRODUCE OF THE APPLE AND PEAR. 

In some of our former numbers there have been slight 
notices of apples and apple -growing; such as the 
sketch of the apple-harvest in Normandy, in No. 541. 
But there are a tew additional matters, which may be 
here grouped together, respecting the various uses 
which the apple and pear trees, considered in then- 
complete state, render. We place the two in conjunc- 
tion, because they are intimately related in their 
botanical features. 

The apple-tree, considered in respect to its timber, 
is not of great importance, though the wood is hard 
and fine-grained. Probably the pieces in which it can 
be obtained are not large enough to be extensively 
useful. The bark affords a yellow die ; the leaves of 
some of the species are eaten by horses, cows, sheep, 
and goats; verjuice, a substitute for vinegar, is made 
from the sourest kind of crab-apple. Jt is said that 
pomatum was first made of apple-pulp, hog's lard, and 
rose-water, and that it derived its name from pomme, 
the French name for apple. 

It is, however, as an edible fruit, and as a material 
for cider, that the apple is most known and valued. 
Apple-jelly is used as a medium for preserving Sibe- 
rian crabs and other fruits. In Norfolk, dried apples, 
under the name of beaufiru, are much esteemed. The 
apples are dried slowly in bakers' ovens after the bread 
has been drawn, being occasionally taken out and 

Sressed with the hand to flatten them : they are ren* 
ered thereby perfectly soft, of a rich brown colour, 
and are sent up to London, where they may generally 
be seen in the snops of the dried-fruit sellers. A some- 
what similar preserve, or marmalade, is made in 
France, and known by the name of raisini compos S. 
This favourite Parisian sweetmeat is made by boiling 
musty or new wine, down to one half, skimming it con- 
tinually as fresh scum rises, and straining off the 
liquor. A number of apples are then pared, cut into 
quarters, and put into the liquor. The mixture is 
simmered gently, and stirred with a long wooden 
spoon, till the apples become thoroughly dissolved in 
the liquor; and the resulting jelly, or marmalade, 
forms a very agreeable and wholesome food, or rather 
confection. In some parts of France, after the must 
has been boiled, skimmed, and strained, and before 
the apples are added, it is allowed to settle for twenty- 
four tours in a cool place ; a saline scum rises, con- 
taining tartaric acid, resulting from a lower degree of 
ripeness in the grapes from which the must had been 
produced, and requiring to be removed before the 
apples are put into the liquor. The best raising com- 
post, made in Burgundy, has a sweetness slightly 
flavoured with acidity, somewhat like a mixture of 
honey and lemon. It is very extensively eaten in 
France, as a substitute for butler, spread upon bread, 
in the same manner as marmalade is in England and 
Scotland. In Italy it is used to flavour maccaroni and 
other dishes. Sometimes a spurious kind is made by 
substituting honey-water for the wine. 



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The liquors made from the fruit of the apple are 
much esteemed in every country where the fruit ripens 
favourably. Apple-water is a refreshing drink in cases 
of fever and inflammation. An apology for cider is 
made in some parts of France, by simply adding water 
and sugar to apple-juice. The North Americans distil 
a spirit from cider called cider-brandy ; they also make 
a drink called pomona-wine, by adding a gallon of 
brandy to six gallons of new cider after being racked 
off : when kept for several months, it is said to form a 
good substitute for wine. Indeed the United States 
present many examples of the attention paid to the 
apple and its preparation into food and drinks ; for the 
apples are there made into preserved apples, apple- 
butter, apple-sauce, dried apples, cider, pomona-winc, 
and other preparations ; and the ceremony, or social 
•• frolic," of apple-paring, by which the fruit is brought 
into the proper state to be acted on, forms a kind of 
harvest-home, of which a lively description by an eye- 
witness may be found in our No. 359. 

In Ireland cider is made from various kinds of 
apples mixed together ; and as many of these are of a 
sour kind, the cider has more acidity than that made 
in England, and appears to be valued on this account. 
In Scotland the making of cider is hardly known. In 
Normandy cider has been made from very early times ; 
the kind produced is sweet, but is more heady, and 
less fitted for keeping, than English cider. In Ame- 
rica cider is chiefly made and drunk in the northern 
provinces, — such as New England. In this latter 
country the fruit is suffered to remain on the tree till 
thoroughly ripe, and is then gathered by hand ; or if 
the trees are shaken, care is observed to lay Russian 
mats on the ground for receiving the apples, to prevent 
them from being bruised ; and after the apples have 
been ground to a pulp, they are allowed to remain a 
week or ten days in that state before pressing. 

In England the chief counties for cider-making are 
Herefordshire, Worcestershire, and Devonshire; and 
so great is the importance attached to the manufacture 
in these counties, that the peasantry have some curious 
customs indicative of their respect for the apple-tree. 
In Devonshire, it is said that the orchard-farmers some- 
times, on Christmas Eve, take a large bowl of cider 
with a toast in it ; and carrying it to the orchard, salute 
the apple-trees with much ceremony, sprinkling the 
branches with the cider, and singing some such a chorus 
as thus : — 

'• Here's to thee, old apple-tree, 
Whence thou mayst bud, and whence thou mayst blow ; 
And whence thou mayst bear apples enow. 
Hats full! Caps full! 
Bushel — bushel — sacks full ! 
And my pockets full too ! 

Huzza !" 

Brand, in his 'Popular Antiquities/ gives descriptions 
of other customs of the kind, of which the following 
will suffice as an example : — The farmer and his men 
go out into the orchard after supper on the eve of 
Twelfth Night, with a large milk-pan full of cider, 
having apples pressed into it ; out of this each person 
in company takes an earthen cup full of liquor, and, 
passing along under the trees, neglects those which 
are not good bearers, but stops at the most fruitful 
trees, and sings to them ; — 

" Health to thee, good apple-tree, 
Well to bear, pocketful!*, hatful]*, 
Peck fulls, bushel-bagful Is" — 

after which he drinks part of the cider, and throws the 
rest at the favourite trees. 



The series of operations connected with the manu- 
facture of cider on a large scale in the counties just 
named, have been described in No. 210. 

The pear-tree so far differs from the apple that its 
wood is employed for many purposes in the arts. The 
wood of the wild pear is heavy, strong, compact, fine- 
grained, and slightly tinged with red. It takes readily 
a deep and permanent black dye, and is in that state so 
much like ebony as to be scarcely distinguishable from 
it. When dyed or stained black, it is much used as a 
veneer for flat picture -frames, being laid upon a 
foundation of deal or some other cheap wood. Gerard, 
when speaking of this wood, said that it " likewise 
serveth to be cut into many kindes of mouldes ; not 
only such prints as those figures are made of [by which 
he probably meant engraved wood-blocks], but also 
many sorts of pretty toies, for coifes, brest-plates, and 
such like, usea among our English gentlewomen." 
The " brest-plates " here alluded were probably ana- 
logous to the whalebones and steels of modern corsets. 
The pear- wood, from being hard, homogeneous, easy to 
cut, and not likely to crack or to warp when dry, is 
fitted for the use of the wood-engraver ; but box-wood 
is superior, and is used in its stead. It is used for 
many purposes by turners and pattern-makers. It 
forms excellent fuel and charcoal. 

As with the apple, so with the pear, the fruit is the 

Eortion of the tree which is most valued. Mr. 
oudon,* quoting principally from the • Nouveaux 
Cours d* Agriculture,' gives the following details as to 
the modes ofpreparing pears for the table on the Con- 
tinent:— In France and Belgium it is very customary 
to dry pears in ovens, in which state they form an 
article of commerce both domestic and foreign, and 
will keep good for a whole year. They are also dried 
in this manner in Russia ; and when stewed they are 
eaten as part of a dessert, or as a substitute for pies 
and puddings. Pears are dried in France in two dif- 
ferent ways. The first of these, for family use, is 
effected by putting them unpared into an oven after 
the bread is drawn, either on the bricks or on raised 
frames of tin or boards. The pears are put into the 
oven two or three times, according to their size and 
the heat of the oven ; and care is taken not to have 
the heat so great as to burn them, nor to allow them 
to remain in so long as to become hard. Sweet mellow 
pears of a middle size are the best fitted for this pur- 
pose ; and when properly prepared they may be kept 
in bags in a dry place for several years. The second 
mode of preparing the pears has relation to those sold 
in boxes in the grocers' shops. The pears are gathered 
before quite ripe, and with attention to the preservation 
of the stalk. They are then parboiled in a little water, 
peeled, and placed on dishes with the stalks upper- 
most. In this state a kind of syrup runs from them, 
which is carefully poured off and set by. They are 
next placed on raised frames, put into an oven after 
the bread has been drawn, and left there twelve hours. 
Being then taken out, they are steeped in the syrup, 
which for this purpose has had sugar, cinnamon, mace, 
and a little brandy added to it. The pears, when taken 
out of the syrup, are again placed in the oven, which 
is heated to a somewhat lower degree than before. 
These operations of alternately steeping and drying 
are repeated three times, and are finished by putting 

* In mentioning the name of this eminent and lamented 
gentleman, we wish to acknowledge the assistance which bis 
numerous agricultural and botanical works, especially the 
' Arboretum Britannicum,' have rendered us in preparing 
slight sketches from time to time on those subjects ; works by 
which, while benefiting readers at large, he undermined his own 
health and strength. 



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the pears for the fourth time into an oven, where they 
are left till quite dry. These processes, if properjy 
conducted, give to the pears a clear pale brown colour, 
and a fine half-transparent fleshy texture. They are 
then arranged in boxes lined with white paper, and 
are thus brought to market. They will keep good for 
three years, out are considered in the finest state 
during the first year. 

The juice of the pear is made into perry much in 
the same manner as that of the apnle is made into cider. 
The description of the mode of making cider on a 
large scale, in No. 210, will suffice likewise for perry ; 
but it may be well to state the manner in which the 
process may be conducted on a small scale for family 
use, as described by Professor Donovan, in Lardners 
• Cyclopaedia.' 

This writer states that the superabundant apples 
from a moderately large garden may be economically 
converted to this use, and without a great deal of 
trouble. A tub is to be procured, made of strong 
staves, and firmly put together, so as to bear the 
strokes of a heavy pounder or crusher : the diameter 
may be about eighteen inches, and the height the same. 
The pounder is made of any bard wood, and shaped 
something like a loaf of sugar, with a handle inserted 
at its apex. A common square clothes-press will do 
very well to give the requisite degree of pressure. 

With these simple implements the process is con- 
ducted thus:— The apples are thrown into the pound- 
ing-tub a few at a time (for if many be operated on at 
once, the crushing will be imperfectly effected), and 
pounded well, which, if the pounder be heavy, will be 
done in a few strokes. A few others are then thrown 
in, and similarly pounded ; and so on till the quantity 
collected impedes the further crushing, and the pulp 
is then transferred to any other wooden vessel. The 
pulp being thus produced, the next point is to express 
the juice from it. For this purpose it is put into a 
canvas bag, placed in a tin tray in the press, and the 
press worked till all the juice is forced out : if the 
screw be urged suddenly, the juice will be thick and 
muddy ; but if gradual and well adjusted, it will be 
clear and transparent. A small pipe leads from the 
front of the tray into a vessel beneath, and through 
this pipe the juice passes after being pressed out of 
the press. 

The juice thus procured may be conveniently fer- 
mented in a cask set upright on one of its ends, having 
the bung-hole (if any) well corked up, and another 
hole bored in the head. Through this hole the apple- 
juice is admitted into the cask, where it may be left to 
ferment at the natural temperature of the air, should 
this be not under 60° in the shade, or near a fire in 
cold weather. After some hours the fermentation 
commences, the head of yeast rises up through the 
cork-hole, and the rim of the cask prevents the yeast 
from flowing over. The fermenting of the juice is not 
designed to give an alcoholic quality, but to exchange 
some of the sweetness of the apple for the sharp brisk- 
ness of the carbonic acid generated by the fermenta- 
tion. Cider is considered in its best state when the 
three qualities of sweetness, sharpness, and acidity are 
so equally balanced that no one of the three predomi- 
nates. As soon as the cider has ceased to ferment, a 
hole is bored with a gimlet near the bottom of the 
cask, and the liquor flows out into anothor cask, which 
is then well bunged up. After remaining thus two or 
three weeks, it may either be bottled off or kept in 
draught for use. •* This apparatus," says Mr. Donovan, 
a will be found capable of doing a greater quantity of 
work than might be anticipated. One man employed 
in pounding the fruit, while another presses and other- 
wise assists, will produce ten gallons of juice in the 
day . , . After tne apples have been pressed, they 



may be economically pounded a second time, when 
they will afford a second product of juice." 



La Vendue in 1793.— Only tiro great roads traversed this se- 
questered region, running nearly parallel, at a distance of more 
than seventy miles from each other. The country, though ra- 
ther thickly peopled, contained, as may be supposed, lew large* 
towns; and the inhabitants, devoted almost entirely to rural 
occupations, enjoyed a great deal of leisure. The noblesse or 
gentry of the country were rery generally resident on their es- 
tates, where they lived in a style of simplicity and homeliness 
which had long disappeared from every other part of the king- 
dom. No grand paras, fine gardens, or ornamented villas ; but 
spacious clumsy chateaux, surrounded with farm offices, and coi- 
tages for the labourers. Tlteir manners and way of life, too, 
partook of the same primitive rusticity. There was great cor- 
diality, and even much familiarity, in the intercourse of the 
seigneurs with their dependants : they were followed by large 
trains of them in their hunting expeditions, which occupied so 
great a part of their time. Rvery man had bis fowling-piece, 
and was a marksman of fame or pretensions. The peasants re- 
sorted familiarly to their landlords for advice, both legal and 
medical ; and they repaid the visits in their daily rem Ides, and 
entered with interest into all the details of (heir agricultural 
operations. From all this there resulted a certain innocence and 
kindliness of character, joined with great hardihood aud gaiety. 
Though not very well educated, the population were exceedingly 
devout: though theirs was a kind of superstitious and tradi- 
tional devotion, it must he owned, rather than an enlightened or 
rational faith. They had the greatest veneration for crucifix** 
aud images of their saints, and had no idea of any doty more 
imperious than that of attending on all the solemnities of re- 
ligion. They were singularly attached also to their curies, who 
were almost all born and bred in the country, spoke their pe/ots, 
and shared in all their pastimes and occupations. When a 
hunting-match was to take place, the clergyman announced it 
from the pulpit alter prayers, and then took bis fowl i tig-piece 
aud accompanied his congregation to the thicket.— &/m£*r/4 
Renew. 

The Wandering Jew. — This is a vulgar error of considerable 
antiquity. Dr. Percy tells us that it obtained full credit in this 
part of the world before the year 1228, as we learn from Matthew 
Paris. In that year it seems there came an Armenian archbishop 
into England to visit the shrines and reliques preserved in our 
churches; who, being entertained at the Monastery of 8t. Albans, 
was asked several questions relating to his country, ftc. Among 
the rest % monk, who sat near him, inquired u if ha had ever 
seen or beard of the famous person named Joseph, who was so 
much talked of, who was present at our Lords crucifixion and 
conversed with him, and who was still alive in confirmation of 
the Christian Faith." The archbishop answered, that the fact 
was true ; and afterwards one of his traiu, who was well known 
to a servant of the abbot's, interpreting his masters words, 
told them in French, that bis lord knew the person they spoke of 
very well ; that he dined at his table hut a little while before he 



left the East ; that he had been Pontius Pilate's porter, by i 
Cartaphilus : who, when they were dragging Jesus out of the 
door of the Judgment Hall, struck him with his fist on the back, 
saying, " Go faster, Jesus, go faster; why dost thou linger V 
Upon which Jesus looked at him with a frown, and said, M I, in- 
deed, am going ; hut thou shalt tarry till I come/* Soon after 
he was converted and baptised by the name of Joseph. He lives 
for ever, hut at the end of every hundred years (alls into an in- 
curable illness, and at length into a fit of extasy, out of which, 
when he recovers, he returns to the same state of youth be was in 
when Jesus suffered, being then about thirty years of age. He re- 
members all the circumstances of the death and resurrection of 
Christ, the Saints that arose with him, the composing of the 
Apostle's Creed, their preaching and dispersion ; and is himself 
a very grave and holy person. This is the substance of Matthew 
Paris s account, who was himself a monk of St. Albans, and was 
living at tlte same time this Armenian archbishop made the 
above relation. Since his time several impostors have appeared 
at intervals under the name and character of the Wandering 
Jew. — Brandt Anliqwtiee, new edition be Sir H. EM*. 



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[Old Houae at Warwick.] 



WARWICK. 



Warwick, the county town of Warwickshire, is situated 
on a rocky eminence, on the north-west bank of the 
Avon, but nearly a quarter of a mile distant from the 
river, Warwick Castle and the grounds belonging to it 
being interposed. Warwick Castle has already been 
described (see • Penny Magazine/ No. 22, vol. i. p. 
177). Warwick is not a large town, but is clean, well 
paved, and well lighted with gas, and has altogether 
an air of neatness and respectability. Most of the 
houses are of comparatively modern construction, a 
great fire which occurred in 1694 having swept away 
more than one half of the old town. Of the ancient 
timber houses which remain, the one represented 
above affords an instance of the picturesque manner 
in which the diagonal timbers are frequently arranged. 
On approaching Warwick by the road from Leam- 
ington, which crosses the Avon by a handsome stone 
bridge, the lofty towers and battlements of Warwick 
Castle, the spire of the church of St. Nicholas, and the 
tower of St. Mary's, are seen, and present the most 
picturesque view which can be obtained of the castle 
and town conjointly. 

Warwick is included in two parishes, St. Mary's and 
St Nicholas's, and has two parish churches. 

St- Mary's church, originally built at the expense of 
the Earls of Warwick, and completed in 1394, was for- 
merly collegiate, but the constitution was changed at 
the dissolution by Henry VIII. A great part of the 
building was destroyed by the conflagration of 1694. 
The nave and transept were rebuilt, and completed in 
1704; the architecture is a mixture of Gothic and 
Roman, incongruous it is true, but not destitute of 
magnificence of effect. The choir, the chancel, and the 
Beauchamp chapel are ancient, and in much better 
taste. The choir has a stone ceiling of elaborate work- 
manship. The chancel it a beautiful specimen of per- 
pendicular architecture ; the east front, in particular, 
is rich in effect, from the elegance of the details, though 
the arrangement is simple. The Beauchamp chapel 
( properly St Mary's chapel) adjoins the chancel on the 



no. 773. 



south. It was erected by the executors of Richard 
Beauchamp, Earl of Warwick, according to the direc- 
tions of his will. It was begun in 1443, but was not 
finished till 1464. The total expense was 2481/., a sum 
probably equal to not less than 40,000/. of our present 
money. The exterior is a fine specimen of the later 
pointed style, in good preservation. The interior is 
highly but elegantly ornamented; the ceiling is of 
stone, richly carved ; the floor is of black and white 
marble ; the great east window is filled with painted 
glass, displaying figures, coats of arms, devices, &c. ; 
the other windows are not painted, except in the 
tracery, which is somewhat damaged. The monument 
of the founder, for the reception of which the chapel 
was especially built, is near the centre of the principal 
apartment, which is fifty-eight feet long by twenty-five 
feet wide. The monument is an altar-tomb of grey 
marble, on the slab of which lies the figure of the earl, 
of the size of life, in brass gilt, and resting on a brass 
table. All the parts of the tomb are highly ornamented : 
it is a monument of great elegance and stateliness. 
This Richard de Beauchamp, Earl of Warwick, whose 
remains lie beneath the tomb, succeeded to the title on 
the death of his father Thomas, the eleventh earl, in 
1401. He distinguished himself by taking the standard 
of Owen Gleudower in battle, and fought against the 
Percies at the battle of Shrewsbury. In 1425 he was 
appointed regent of France, during the Duke of Bed- 
ford's absence in England. In 1428 he was summoned 
home, to become governor to Henry VI., then in the 
seventh year of his age, which office he retained till 
1437, when be succeeded the Duke of York as regent 
of France. He died at Rouen in 1439. His body was 
brought to England in a stone coffin, and placed near 
the monument of his father till his own chapel and 
tomb were sufficiently advanced to be fit for its recep- 
tion, which was in 1460. 

There are several other monuments in the Beau- 
champ Chapel : one of the most sf lend id is that of the 
Earl of Leicester, the favourite of Jueen Elizabeth. 

The living of St. Mary is a vicarage, of the clear 
annual value of 300/., with a glebe-hojfse. It is in the 

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rural deanery of Warwick, and archdeaconry and dio- 
cese of ^^orcester. 

The church of St. Nicholas was built in 1780. The 
spire is low, and the church has no claim to praise for 
its architecture, which is Gothic. The interior is neat, 
but not spacious. The living is a vicarage, of the clear 
annual value of 218/., with a glebe-house. It is in the 
rural deanery of Warwick, and archdeaconry and dio- 
cese of Worcester. 

The Court House, or Town Hall, a respectable stone 
building, was erected about 1730, at the expense of 
the corporation, for which, as a misappropriation of 
the corporation funds, the authorities were sum- 
moned by the Court of Chancery, and their powers 
suspended till 1738. The County Hall is a handsome 
building, with a stone front and Corinthian columns. 
The interior is spacious ; and there is a large but plain 
stone building adjoining the Hall for the accommoda- 
tion of the judges at the assizes. The County Gaol 
adjoins the County Hall on the north. It is a modern 
building, surrounded by a strong wall twenty-three 
feet high. On the opposite side of the street, not far 
from the gaol, is the County Bridewell, which is also 
modern. The Market-house is a substantial stone 
building. The open part below is appropriated to those 
who attend the market. The rooms above are used as 
the Museum of the Warwickshire Natural History and 
Archaeological Society, which is probably superior to 
any collection of the kind in a town of similar size. 

Leicester's Hospital, an ancient structure, was ori- 
ginally the hall of the two guilds of Warwick, the 
Guild of the Holy Trinity and the Guild of St. George 
the Martyr, which were founded in the reign of Richard 
II., and afterwards united into one. After the disso- 
lution of this fraternity by Henry VIII., the building 
became the property of the Earl of Leicester, who con- 



verted it into an hospital for twelve impotent men, 
and one master, who was to be & professor of divinity. 
The endowment at the time was valued at 200/. a year, 
but now worth more than 2000/. a year. The number 
of brethren has been increased to twenty-two, and the 
allowances augmented. Preference is given to soldiers 
who have been disabled in- the public service. The 
ancient buildings have been altered to suit the increase 
in the number of the inmates and the change in the 
value of the endowment. There is a Dispensary for 
supplying the sick poor with medical and surgical 
advice and remedies. 

A free grammar-school was founded at Warwick by 
Henry VIII., and endowed with property which be- 
longed to the dissolved establishments. The school is 
open to all boys of the % town, but an entrance fee of 
1/. 11*. 6d. is required, and a half-yearly payment of 5*. 

Warwick is a municipal and parliamentary borough. 
The boundaries of the municipal borough are co-ex- 
tensive with those of the parishes of St. Mary and St 
Nicholas ; they extend beyond the town from a mile to 
five miles in different directions, and include an area 
of 5360 acres. The population of the borough in 1831 
was 9109 ; in 1841 it was 9775. The population of the 
town and suburbs in 1831, was 9000 ; m 1841, it was 
about 9650. The borough was formerly governed by 
twelve aldermen, of whom the mayor was one. By 
the Municipal Reform Act in 1835, it was divided into 
two wards, with six aldermen and eighteen councillors. 

As a parliamentary borough, Warwick has returned 
two members to the House of Commons ever since the 
reign of Edward I. The population of the parlia- 
mentary borough in 1841 was 9124. The number of 
voters on the list in 1839-40 was 977. The elections 
for the southern division of the county are held at 
Warwick. 



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The assizes and quarter-sessions for the county are 
held at Warwick. Quarter-sessions for the borough 
are also held, and there is a Court of Record for per- 
sonal actions under 40/. 

Manufactures of worsted, cotton, and lace are carried 
on to some extent. Many of the tradesmen have shops 
at Leamington as well as at Warwick. The Warwick 
and Napton Canal, which is connected with the Bir- 
mingham and London Canal, passes near' the town. 
The market, which is on Saturday, is well supplied 
and well attended ; and there are twelve fairs yearly, 
chiefly for cattle ; also a statute fair for the hiring of 
servants, and a cheese-fair. There is one weekly news- 
paper, the Warwick Advertiser. 

Warwick is an ancient town, but does not appear to 
have been a Roman station. In the Saxon times it was 
favoured with the patronage \>f Ethelfleda, daughter 
of King Alfred, and at this time the keep or dungeon 
was constructed. The castle was built in the reign of 
Edward the Confessor, and became "a special strong 
hold for the midland part of the kingdom. After the 
Norman Conquest, the castle was enlarged and the for- 
tifications strengthened. This castle was given by the 
Conqueror to Henry de Newburgh, whom he created 
Earl of Warwick. In Domesday-Book the town is 
called a borough, and is stated to contain 361 houses, 
of which 130 belonged to the king, 112 to certain 
barons, and 19 to burgesses, who enjoyed them " with 
aoc and sac (with entire possession), and all customs as 
in the days of Edward the Confessor.'* Several reli- 
gious establishments arose about this time. The paving 
of the town and the building of the walls commenced 
in the latter part of the reign of Edward L The exe- 
cution of Piers Gaveston, the favourite of Edward II., 
on Blacklow Hill, under the direction of Guy, Earl of 
Warwick, and Thomas, Earl of Lancaster, is described 
in ♦ Penny Magazine,' vol. i., p. 177. 

The appearance of the town in the reign of Henry 
VIII. is thus described by Leland : — "The town stands 
on a main rocky hill, rising from east to west. The 
beauty and glory of it is in its two streets, whereof the 
High-street goes from east to west, having a right 
goodly cross in the middle of it, and the other crosseth 
the middle of it, making a quadrivium, and goeth from 
north to south." The High-street is still a spacious and 
handsome street, but the cross is no longer there. The 
walls too which surrounded the town have disappeared, 
except a fragment or two. 

The corporation received its first charter in 1572 
(1 Philip and Mary). Another was granted by Charles 
II., in 1694, and was confirmed and modified by 
another in the reigpi of William III. 

During the civil war of Charles I. the town and 
castle was held by Robert, Lord Brooke, for the parlia- 
ment. The castle was garrisoned, and was besieged 
by the royalists, and several skirmishes took place. 
Lord Brooke showed his determination to die rather 
than surrender by hanging out a Bible and a winding- 
sheet on the tower oi the castle. After a fortnight, 
the royal army was obliged to retreat. The last event 
of importance which occurred to the town was the 
great fire of 1694, which has already been mentioned. 



proportioned to its actual value in the market. Any one who 
has been engaged in the construction of a railway in England 
will readily understand bow materially these favourable circum- 
stances must aid in the economical performance of the work. 
Another roost important thing for producing this desirable end is 
the fact that travellers in the United States are well satisfied if 
carried at the rate of 15 miles per hour, while we in England feel 
greatly aggrieved if we do not accomplish 25 miles per hour, 
and in some cases even that rate of rapidity fails to satisfy. To 
accomplish the slower rate, it is not necessary to reduce the 
line so nearly to a level as where greater speed is required, and 
consequently much of the expense of excavating and embanking, 
indispensable in England, is avoided. This slower rate, again, 
makes it practicable to use with safety curves of much shorter 
radius than are admissible at higher velocities. The economy 
resulting from this comparatively low speed, and the manner in 
which it admit of gradients and curves that would otherwise be 
inadmissible, will be made plain by inspection of the following 
table, which rests upon the observations of Mr. Nicholas Wood, 
and from whose valuable work on railroads it is taken : — 



Load in Tons that can be drawn 
by a Locomotive Engine of 
ordinary power, 
. 250 

• 184 

• 138 

• 106 
83 
65 
50 
38 
28 



Railroad* m England and America, — - The comparatively 
small cost at which the greater part of the railways in the 
United States have been constructed, is the result of a variety 
of circumstances concurring to that end. In the first place, 
the projectors are spared all the expenses attendant upon par- 
liamentary contests ; there are not any adverse interests to be 
bought off; nor any exorbitant claims for land to be satisfied. 
The presence of a railroad in any district is felt to bring with it 
advantages to the owners and occupiers of the soil, so great as to 
make it their interest to promote the undertaking by a cession of 
the land which is required, either as a free gift, or upon terms 



Rate of speed in Miles 
per hour. 

10 

12* . 

15 

\1\ . 

20 

22* . 

25 

27* . 

30 
Thus an engine that at 15 miles per hour would draw 138 tons 
weight, would at 25 miles per hour draw no more than 50 tons ; 
and by adding another 5 miles per hour to the speed, its capa- 
bility would be lessened to 28 tons. It must be evident that if 
power is exhausted by the speed attained, the same effect must 
be produced in order to overcome a difference of level, and it 
has been ascertained that to master an acclivity of 1 foot in 
each 300 feet of distance requires a tractive force twice as great 
as is required to move the same load at the same speed along a 
dead level railroad. Where the acclivity amounts to 1 in 
150, the force is required to be three times as great as on a 
level; a rise of 1 in 100 requires four times, and a rise of 
1 in 75 a force five times as great as on a level. If, [then, the 
locomotive engines employed in America are of the same horse- 
power as those employed in England, a greater portion of that 
power will be expended in overcoming the greater difference of 
level, and the greater amount of friction caused by the smaller 
radii of curves ; and the deficiency of power thus caused can only 
be made good by travelling at a less rate of speed. Another 
cause of comparative cheapness of construction is the very low 

f>rice of timber, and the great extent to which it is applied in 
ieu of masonry in the construction of bridges and viaducts. 
Considerable portions of some of the American railways are 
supported upon piles, the whole structure consisting of a very 
simple and cheap, though strong framework or scaffolding. 
Wood is also used very extensively instead of stone for support- 
ing the rails ; and on many lines the rails themselves consist of 
beams of timber, the upper surfaces of which are covered with 
thin iron plates, for the sake of obtaining an iron surface at the 
least possible cost. In many cases great economy is effected in 
the locomotive expenditure by the use of wood, instead of coke, for 
fuel in the locomotive engines. On this subject of comparative 
cheapness, it may further be stated, that nearly all the railroads 
hitherto executed, or which are in progress of construction in the 
United States, consist of only one line of rails, with sidings, or 
• turn-outs/ at intervals. 

Considering the different condition of the two countries as 
respects the possession of capital, it must be apparent that had the 
citizens of the United States aimed at the same high degree of 
perfection in railway works as has been attained in England, a 
very few only of the various lines now in use in America could 
have been completed. The degree of commercial activity which 
these works have tended so powerfully to produce, sufficiently 
attests the wisdom of the course pursued, and may at no very 
distant period prove instrumental in providing means for more 
perfect undertakings, should such be demanded. 



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[CUremoui-] 



RAMBLES FROM RAILWAYS. 
Thb Rivmi Molb.— No. III. 

[Coi«lnd«d from p. 119.] 

From Leatberhead there is a by-road over Platsome 
Green, keeping the river a little on the left, to Stoke 
d'Abernon ; and there is another leaving the river on 
the right across a corner of Fetcham Common : they 
meet at Stoke by the old water-mill ; both are pleasant — 
indeed, in that respect, there is little to choose between 
them. Our river we must no longer expect to follow 
closely, its way, during most of the remainder of its 
course, lying through private enclosures. 

We ought to have mentioned sooner that the banks 
of our river are everywhere adorned with a profusion 
of flowers; and in spring abound to a remarkable 
degree with cowslips, a flower that is found in unusual 
plenty throughout Surrey. Nor must we omit to 
notice, that in many of the villages a graceful May- 
day custom prevails connected therewith. During the 
last few days of April, the village children go about 
the meadows, and collecting all the cowslips they can 
And, form them into garlands, chapiets, &c, and on 
May-morning they assemble, and uniting in bands, 
carry their garlands, arranged commonly on two hoops 
crossed vertically and fixed on poles, about the neigh- 
bourhood; and very pretty they look. They have 
nosegays of other flowers also, but cowslips (or paigles, 
as they call them) are the chief ; and with these their 
bonnets and caps are also trimmed. We have seen 
some of these little processions that looked as charm- 
ing as those troops of Italian children carrying flowers, 
which Mr. Uwins paints so delightfully. We have not 
seen this Surrey custom noticed anywhere ; in Hone's 
1 Every-day Book* there is an account of one something 
similar, in the neighbourhood of Northampton!. We 
do not know whether the practice is falling off, but it 
is not extinct — last May-day we saw many of these little 
companies at as short a distance from London as Car- 
shalton and Beddington ; certainly there is no other 
relic of May-day near London of anything like so grace- 
ful a form. The cottages too are for the nonce deco- 
rated with similar ornaments. 

Stoke church is one of those little churches situated 
within a park, of which there are so many in every 



county, and which always have so stiff, and lordly, and 
exclusive a look. It stands by the river-side, and is a 
neat little building. The village consists merely of a 
few scattered houses. At Stoke we part from the 
downs by which the scenery has hitherto been so agree- 
ably diversified. Our river now runs1>y Cobham Park, 
soon after quitting which it works another of those 
picturesque water-mills of which we have already 
passed so many along its banks. As this is the last we 
shall meet with deserving regard, we give an engraving 
of it below. 



[Mill «tt Cobhatn.J 

Cobham is quite a model of a sequestered country 
hamlet, and must be very refreshing in its quietness 
to the many anglers who escape to it from the noise of 
London. It contains some good houses, and, altogether, 
has a weighty look. In the churchyard there is a 
noble yew-tree, hollow from age, but still vigorous, 
and of large size. Cobham proper lies away from the 
great Portsmouth road, which runs through a sort of 
offset from Cobham, called Cobham-street ;— a place 
that, prior to the opening of the South-western Rail- 



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way, had a lively bustling appearance, very different 
from that it now wears. The Mole about Cob nam, as we 
have hinted, is much frequented by anglers, and has a 
promising look to a practised eye. Two bridges here 
cross it : the original bridge at Cobham was erected 
by Matilda, queen of Henry I., who assigned a piece 
of land in Cobham for its support. The cause of its 
erection was somewhat remarkable and characteristic 
of the age. One of her maidens being drowned in 
attempting to cross the ford here, the queen caused 
a bridge to be erected over the place for the repose 
of her tout. It lasted till 1782, when it was removed, 
being too small for the increased traffic. Matilda 
appears to have had an inclination for bridge-making, 
as, in addition to this at Cobham, the old one across the 
Lea at Stratford-le-Bow (which remained till within the 
last five or six years), and, we believe, one or two others, 
were erected by her. 

Passing through Cobham-street, a by-road may be 
taken which will afford us frequent glimpses of our 
companion, although we can now no longer keep close 
beside it. The road is an agreeable one, and by South- 
wood we may join the river again, and proceed with- 
out much hindrance along its banks until we reach 
Eisner Place. There is, however, another pleasant 
way by which, although we must part from our river 
awhile, we may still avoid the high road. This is, to 
take a road near Cobham mill, or one by the church, 
and thence by Fair-mile farm, and across Esher Com- 
mon to Clarcmont. This shall be our course : — 

" A common overgrown with fern, and rough 
With prickly gone, that shapeless and deform'd, 
And dangerous to the touch, lias yet its bloom, 
And decks itself with ornaments of gold, 
Yields no unpleasing ramble " 

says Cowper: and to us there is always something 
exhilarating in the fresh breezy air of an English com- 
mon, with its strings of rosy-cheeked, ragged children ; 
its flocks of noisy geese ; its two or three scraggy 
horses and scrubby donkeys; its tall furze bushes, 
with their rich golden garniture that almost seems to 
glow from the contrast* with the snowy whiteness of 
the linen hung across them to dry. Add to these, the 
wind-mill, the snug public-house, with its old tree and 
swinging sign ; the cottages huddled up in a corner, 
opposite the pond, or loosely scattered where the first 
"enclosers* reared their mud huts; a gipsy encamp- 
ment* if the common be a wide one ; and, if it be a 
summer evening, the cricketers ; — and you have pretty 
much what combine to make up "a Common," all 
England over. Yet, although alike, it is with a dif- 
ference, and a common is always an object of pleasure 
to a pedestrian, unless there be the name only and not 
the thing. An enclosed common is an eyesore to every 
loveT of English scenery. 

Esher Commou is without some of these features, 
but it has others that perhaps make amends; we must 
not, however, linger over it : here is Claremont before 
us, with its associations so blended with the national 
feelings and its various attractions. From Esher 
Common we enter the park, rich in 

u Old Patrician trees and Plebeian underwood," 

and abounding with game. The original mansion was 
built by Vanbrugh, the architect of Blenheim, and 
afterwards enlarged by the Earl of Clare (better 
known as the Duke of Newcastle), from whom it took 
its name. Dr. Garth published a poem on the occa- 
sion, entitled * Claremont,' which is not destined, we 
believe, to be immortal. Claremont afterwards be- 
came the property of one or two other parties, and was 
at length purchased by Lord Clive, "the Conqueror of 
India/ who had Vanbrugh's house pulled down, and 
the present one erected by Browne, celebrated in his 



day as a landscape gardener as well as an architect. 
It is in that syle of u Classic" of which so many speci- 
mens were produced about that time. It is said to 
have cost above a hundred thousand pounds. Lord 
Clive was not a favourite with the peasantry of the 
surrounding neighbourhood. Strange tales were cir- 
culated respecting his wealth, and exaggerated rumours 
of his Indian cruelties, and he was regarded with a 
feeling almost of horror by them. 

After the death of Lord Clive, Claremont passed 
through several hands, and was finally bought by the 
government for the Prince Leopold and the Princess 
Charlotte. Her death occurred here, and produced a 
general gloom to which English history hardly de- 
scribes a parallel. In the gardens, a summer-house 
to which, the princess was very partial has been con- 
verted by the prince into a mausoleum, and dedicated 
to her memory. Claremont, as is well known, is a 
favourite retreat of Her who has so happily succeeded 
its late possessor in the affection of the nation. Since 
the accession of Leopold to the throne of Belgium, the 
visits of Victoria almost alone give life to the deserted 
mansion. 

From Claremont we pass through Esher, a respect- 
able but dull town, to Esher Place, which Thon.sou 
sings of as " Esher's groves 

u in sweetest solitude embrae'd 
By the soft windings of the silent Mole." 

The grounds of Esher Place are very beautiful, and 
vistas are so arranged and garden seats so placed as to 
call attention to the loveliest prospects. At Esher 
Place Wolsey had a palace, a seat attached to the 
Bishopric of Winchester ; and here it was that he re- 
tired after losing Henry's favour, and when he had 
been so ruthlessly despoiled of his other possessions by 
that rapacious monarch His residence at Esher was 
marked by deep mortifications, and it is quite painful 
to read his earnest and importunate supplications for 
mercy. This is altogether a humiliating period of his 
life. Just before his fall his style of living was of 
almost unequalled magnificence ; here he was obliged 
to borrow beds, linen, and even dishes; was straitened 
almost for the necessaries of life, and was only en- 
abled, by the contributions of his chaplains, and of the 
followers who remained constant to him in his ad- 
versity, to pay the wages due to his inferior servants. 
" His faults he gently on him ! 



[WoUey's Tower.} 

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"This cardinal, 
Though from an humble stock, undoubtedly 
Wm faihion'd to much honour/* 

The only remnant of Wolsey's palaq&is what is called 
Wolsey's Tower, in the preceding page. Jt stands by 
the side of the Mole, and is a red brick building, bearing 
in its general appearance, and also in its details, a 
strong resemblance to the older parts of Hampton 
Court : both, it will be remembered, were erected by 
Wolsey at about the same period. The tower is partly 
overgrown by ivy, but is in good preservation. 

While the visitor is pondering on the character and 
fortunes of that extraordinary man, and trying, per- 
chance, to recall to bis imagination the strange times — 
big with so many mighty events— in which he lived ; a 
train of carriages will, perhaps, dash along the railway 
viaduct that is carried just beyond the tower, and bring 
home to his mind with a startling vividness the won- 
drous changes that have come over our land since the 
fallen Cardinal here in bitterness of heart poured forth 
those affecting meditations on the mutability of all sub- 
lunary things. 

Soon after passing under the railway, the river 
separates into two branches : the one runs by Ember 
Court and near Thames Ditton, so favourite a re- 
sort of Thames anglers ; the other flows towards 
Moulsey Hurst, notorious in past days as the scene 
of many prize pugilistic encounters. The banks of 
the Mole are here low and marshy, and there is little 
more that is attractive in its course till its union 
with the Thames nearly opposite Hampton Court. 
Near its termination, we pass through the pretty rustic 
village of East Moulsey (or Molesey, as it was formerly 
spelt), which takes its name from our river. Here 
it works a large factory-like and most unpicturesque 
mill. The termination of the Mole is a noble one. 
From its mouth the Thames, with Hampton Court on 
the opposite bank, form a picture of surpassing beauty ; 
that magnificent palace is nowhere seen to greater ad- 
vantage. 

Here, then, we part from our silent companion. The 
railway station stands invitingly near, but the rambler 
will prefer, if there be time, to cross the old wooden 
bridge to Hampton Court, and from thence stroll 
through the stately avenues of Bushy Park to Rich- 
mond, from which place he may — after a passing 
glance at the always new prospect from its hill — 
embark on board the Richmond steamer, and thus 
appropriately conclude his river excursion. 



ON GUM, ITS SOURCES AND USES. 

The remarkable and useful substances which obtain 
the common name of gum, are a kind of mucilaginous, 
or more frequently resinous, juice which exudes through 
the pores of certain plants, chiefly of tropical climates, 
through natural clefts or artificial incisions, and hardens 
on the surface. A brief notice of three or four of these 
may be given. 

Chan-Arabic^ or gum-Senegal, is a very pure kind of 
gum, which exudes from a tree growing abundantly on 
the sandy soil of Egypt and Arabia, and in several 
other parts of Africa. The purest quality is brought 
in caravans to Cairo by the Arabs of the country near 
Mount Sinai, who sew it up in skin bags, and transport 
it on the backs of camels. The kind found in Western 
Africa obtains the name of the country, Senegal, which 
produces it ; it is in larger masses, and of a yellowish 
or amber colour, but docs not sensibly differ from the 
Egyptian gum in its chief properties. The gum exudes 
spontaneously in a liquid state from the trunk and 
boughs of the tree, and hardens by contact with the 
air and the heat of the sun ; it begins to flow about 
December, immediately after the rainy season, near 



the flowering time of the tree ; and afterwards, as the 
weather becomes hotter, incisions are made through 
the bark, to assist the passage of the juice. The best 
gum is brought over in oblong or roundish lumps, 
seldom larger than a walnut, nearly transparent, white 
or palish yellow, wrinkled, and of a shining fracture ; 
it is bo brittle as easily to be reduced to a fine powder, 
and is also perfectly insipid and inodorous. 

The solvent power of gum -Arabic in water, and the 
adhesive liquid which it forms when so dissolved, are 
among the qualities which impart considerable value to 
it. It may be recovered again in the solid form in a 
remarkable way ; for if it be dissolved in either hot or 
cold water, and then exposed to a gentle evaporation, 
the watery parts will pass off gradually, and leave the 
gum in a solid state, fit to be redissolved as before, 
without any of its properties being changed : there are 
but very few vegetable Bubstances which resemble it 
in this respect When in the dry and solid state, the 
gum will remain unaltered for any length of time ; and 
the watery solution is one of the least changeable of all 
vegetable liquids. 

This gum is employed for a number of valuable 
purposes in the arts and in medicine. It may be used 
either to suspend in water a number of substances 
which could not otherwise be kept equally diffused in 
this liquid, or as a means of cementing together a 
variety of articles of light work. For the last-named 
purpose it is peculiarly valuable, because a clean 
colourless cement, perfectly easy of application, may 
be prepared from the gum in a few minutes. It is 
also used in very large quantities by the calico-printers, 
to mix the colours and the ingredients in block -print- 
ing ; and it forms the basis of crayons, of the cakes of 
water-colours, and of several liquid colours, of which 
common writing-ink is a familiar example. 

There appear to be nutritive qualities in gum- 
Arabic ; for in the countries where it is found it forms 
an important article of food, either by itself or mixed 
with rice or milk. An instance is on record in which 
the travellers of a large caravan, having consumed all 
their provisions by the time their journey was half 
over, kept themselves alive by eating the gum*Arabic 
which they were bringing as merchandize. 

A few medicinal preparations contain gum- Arabic 
as one of their ingredients. It has a soothing effect 
from its mucilaginous character, and is employed 
sometimes to protect the system from the effect of 
any acrid *nd stimulating substance. In many in- 
stances it is employed not so much to produce any 
medicinal effect, as to enable other substances to mix 
together. Thus, it will give to balsams, resins, and 
fixed oils the power of mixing with water, and thus 
forming liquid medicines. 

Taking all these uses together, the demand for gum- 
Arabic is very considerable. There are more than 
thirteen thousand cwts. imported into England yearly, 
or nearly a million and a half of pounds. It sells at from 
thirty to two hundred shillings per c:wt., according to 
quality and to the relation between supply and de- 
mand. 

Gum-mastich, another very useful product, differs 
from gum-Arabic in partaking more of a resinous 
nature. It is an exudation from the pistachio lentiscus, 
a tree growing in the south and south-eastern parts of 
Europe. The juice is obtained most abundantly, ac- 
cording to Tournefort, by making transverse incisions 
in the bark of the tree about the beginning of August, 
from which the mastich-gum exudes in drops, which 
run down and concrete on the ground, and are thence 
collected for sale or use. The time chosen for making 
these incisions is quite early in August, when the 
weather is very dry ; and on the day after the cutting 
the mastich begins to appear in drops, which continue to 



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exude till the latter end of September. The tree is also 
raised in more northern parts of Europe ; but no mastich 
has been obtained from it under such circumstances, 
probably because the weather is too cold to permit its 
formation. It is said to derive the name mastich from 
masticare, *• to chew ;" because it is thus used in the 
island of Scio, and by the Turks, especially the women, 
for sweetening the breath and strengthening the gums 
and teeth ; and by producing a copious excretion of 
saliva, it is useful in some complaints. 

Gum-mastich, in the commercial form in which it 
reaches us, is in small, yellowish, transparent, brittle 
grains or tears. A piece recently broken is quite 
transparent, but "by exposure to the air it becomes on 
the surface rather powdery, and hence semi-trans- 
parent. Unlike gum- Arabic, it is wholly insoluble in 
water. It has a light agreeable odour, especially when 
rubbed or heated. When distilled with water, it yields 
a small portion of a limpid essential oil, very fragrant 
in smell, and moderately pungent in taste. 

Mastich is used in small quantities as an astringent 
in various complaints ; given either in substance, di- 
vided by different materials, or dissolved in spirits and 
mixed with syrup, or dissolved in water by the inter- 
vention of gura-Arabic. The wood of the tree is ad- 
mitted into the Materia Medica of some foreign coun- 
tries, being used in the preparation of medicines. 

Jewellers sometimes mix mastich with turpentine 
and ivory-black, and lay it under their diamonds to 
give them a lustre. But the most extensive employ- 
ment of this gum in the arts in this country is probably 
in the manufacture of mastich varnish, a highly valued 
varnish for oil-paintings and other purposes. The 
mode of making depends on the quantity manufactured 
at a time ; but the following is given as one method 
of making it on a small scale : — Five ounces of powdered 
mastich are put into a bottle with a pound of spirit of 
turpentine, and kept in a warm bath till the mastich 
is dissolved; after which it is strained for use, and is 
laid on the picture or other article by means of a brush. 
The same varnish, somewhat modified by other ingre- 
dients, is used as a vehicle or liquid for colours in 
painting. 

Gumrcopal is a third variety, sharing with the two 
former many qualities in common, but more nearly 
resembling mastich than gum- Arabic. It is imported 

?artly from North America and partly from the East 
ndies, and is a natural exudation from a large tree, 
hardening when exposed to the air. 

The best copal is a hard, brittle, resinous substance, 
in rounded lumps of moderate size, easily reducible to 
fine powder, beautifully transparent; but often, like 
amber, containing parts of insects and other small ex- 
traneous bodies impacted in its substance. The colour 
of copal is a light lemon yellow, varying to orange ; 
but when dissolved and spread thinly over any surface, 
the colour is scarcely perceptible, appearing only as a 
fine, hard, smooth, transparent glazing. These three 
qualities— hardness, transparency, and absence of 
colour — peculiarly fit this substance to be employed as 
a materia] for varnish. 

Copal dissolves less readily than most other sub- 
stances of this kind. Not only does it not dissolve in 
water; but even alcohol, which so readily dissolves 
most of the others, does not act on copal unless cam- 
phor is used. An alcoholic solution of copal is made 
bv dissolving half an ounce of camphor in a pint of 
alcohol ; adding four ounces of copal in small frag- 
ments ; putting the whole into a glass vessel, and hold- 
ing it over a lamp till the solution* is complete. Copal 
may be dissolved in oil of turpentine by the interven- 
tion of some other of the essential oiis, particularly 
oil of spike and oil of lavender. When united with 
drying linseed-oil, copal yields an oil varnish which, 



under the name of copal varnish, is very extensively 
used by coach-makers and other artisans. 

Gum- Sandarach, or the Sandaracha Arabum, is a 
resinous juice which oozes out of the trunk and thick 
branches of several kinds of juniper, in warm countries, 
and particularly on the coasts of Africa, by incisions 
made during the heats of summer. The juice con- 
cretes into semi-pellucid, pale, yellowish tears or glo- 
bules, somewhat resembling mastich, but rather larger. 
The gum-resin thus formed has a light agreeable smell, 
but very little taste. It will not dissolve in water, but 
does so in spirit and in essential oils. The small or 
common juniper yields very little sandarach ; but its 
fruit yields oils, waters, salts, spirits, and extracts of 
some repute in medicine. 

Like most of the other gums, sandarach is an in- 
gredient in varnish. One sort of varnish is made by 
dissolving this gum in oil of turpentine. The gum is 
also used, when reduced to an impalpable powder, as 
pounce, to prevent paper from imbibing ink. 

Gum-sandarach nas been much employed in some 
foreign countries for medicinal purposes ; but not to a 
great extent in England. 



PALISSY. 

There are certain destinies in the history of letters to 
which posterity appears to take delight in rendering 
posthumous justice. Burns, Savage, Chatterton, Ot- 
way, have received in our own times the sympathy so 
sparingly bestowed by their contemporaries ; and the 
French poet Gilbert, though known only by a single 
elegy and his tragical end, bears a name consecrated 
by the veneration of his country. De Foe has been 
redeemed from the ignominy of the pillory by the ad- 
miration of every public in Europe; and were poor 
Oliver Goldsmith to rise from the grave, the debts, 
whose evil influence rusted the powers of his mind 
during his lifetime, would be readily defrayed by his 
admirers. 

But this sort of posthumous influence is usually at- 
tained by writers of poetry and romance, whose spirit 
seems evermore vital, in the grasp maintained by their 
works upon the human mind. Towards the departed 
men of science we remain cold and ungrateful. The 
march of experiment is so rapidly progressive, that 
every half-century effaces the marvels of its antecedent ; 
and newer discoveries blot out the memory of those to 
whom we are so largely indebted. At most, we esti- 
mate their achievements according to their insulated 
value. The difficulty and temporary value of the dis- 
covery is not taken into account. We overlook their 
toilsome days, their sleepless nights, their sacrifices of 
health and property ; and measure our tribute of lau- 
rels or the palms of martyrdom with a thrifty and 
graceless hand. For though no subsequent fiction can 
dislodge from our affections 'Robinson Crusoe/ or 
4 The Vicar of Wakefield/ or • Tam o'Shanter,' the 
lustre of such names as Davy and Farraday has 
" paled the ineffectual fires" of many whose lives were 
devoted, and not infructuously, to the advancement of 
science. 

It is a source of bitter reflection on the capricious- 
ness of fame, to peruse the biography of these early 
struggles in a career now so smooth; and though 
posthumous laurels afford a sufficiently hollow com- 
pensation for a life of toil, privation, and misery, the 
giver, if not the receiver, of such honours, is benefited 
by the tribute. 

Listen to the history of Bernard Palissy ; a name but 
little honoured in his own countr?, and in England 
all but unknown ; though that of the father of several 
highly important discoveries, and a valuable link in 
the powerful chain of European philosophy. 



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Palissy belonged to the great epoch of the revival of 
the arts ; yet, though an artist, lived a beggar and died 
a captive. While Francis I. was despatching messen- 
gers to Italy to engage the services or Benvenuto Cel- 
lini, Andrea del Sarto, and Leonardo da Vinci, a man 
of genius was starving in his own town of Saintes, to 
whom the fosterhood of his patronage would have af- 
forded means of bringing to perfection certain arts of 
his invention, which have since afforded, and still af- 
ford, an important branch of commerce to France. 
But Palissy was a native artist ; Palissy was undistin- 
guished by the stamp, then essential, of an Italian ori- 
gin or education. To foreigners were assigned the 
creation and embellishments of the new palaces ; and 
to Palissy, obscurity and neglect. Born in some vil- 
lage, the name of which is unknown, in the diocese of 
Agen, about the year 1500, be followed the bumble 
calling of a land-surveyor, to which, as he advanced in 
years, he added that of painting on glass. 

At that period the art of porcelain-making was un- 
known. The discovery of Herculaneum and Pompeii 
have enabled us to determine the progress made by 
the ancients in the arts of pottery ; and in the begin- 
ning of the sixteenth century the only manufactory of 
crockery which could pretend to the name of porcelain 
was at Faenza in Italy ; whither it is said to have been 
transported from China, by certain Venetian mer- 
chants. From this manufactory was derived the 
name of faience or fayence, still used in France. 

It happened that, in a visit to Agen, Palissy, the 
painter on glass, obtained a sight of a specimen of 
faenza, or of Oriental porcelain, which inspired him 
with the hope of discovering some sort of white enamel, 
by which earthenware might be encrusted ; and from 
that moment he devoted fifteen years of his life to the 
pursuit of this single object. It appears a simple me- 
thod to have proceeded at once to Faenza, and become 
a workman in the famous pottery. But means for so 
long a journey were probably wanting to the poor vil- 
lage geometer ; and he accordingly gave to the enter- 
prise all that was in his power, every moment of his 
days, and every faculty of nis mind. 

As a painter on glass, the art of mixing and fixing 
colours was well known to him ; but the difficulty 
of transferring these to pottery-ware and covering 
them by a transparent silicious varnish seems to have 
baffled his most persevering endeavours. Scarcely 
able to provide for the maintenance of his wife and 
family, he had the greatest difficulty in procuring 
colours and pottery to effect his experiments. Half 
his time was lost in grinding and pounding materials, 
and the vain attempt to construct the necessary ovens : 
at length he contrived to interest the owner of a 
pottery, who undertook to bake for him his experi- 
mental pieces ; but partly from ignorance, partly from 
ill-will, the attempt was inexpertly made ; and, ruined 
in fortune, health, and spirits, at the close of twelve 
years of incessant labour, Palissy was compelled by 
the wants of his family to abandon his pursuit, and 
resume his more thriving calling as an engineer. 
Having obtained from the district a commission for 
the draining of certain salt-marshes, he executed his 
task with credit and profit. No sooner, however, had 
he obtained the means of continuing his attempts, than 
lie returned with greater diligence than ever to his 
enamelling, and despatched the new samples of his 
skill to be baked in trie furnace of a glasshouse. 

And now, for the first time, the composition he had 
invented proved fusible. Out of three hundred speci- 
mens of various experiments submitted at the same 
time to the action of the furnace, a single one pre- 
sented, on cooling, a hard, white, vitreous, brilliant 
surface ; and the joy of poor Palissy in the discovery 
uny be easily conceived. 



" I was, however, at that time of my life so simple," 
says he, in his narrative of his experiments, " that the 
moment I had hit upon the real enamel, I set about 
making the pottery-ware to which it was to be applied ; 
and, after losing eight months in the task, I had next 
to construct a furnace similar to those of the glass- 
houses, in which it was to be baked. No one can con- 
ceive the trouble it cost me, for I had to do all by the 
single labour of my hands — to sift the mortar, and even 
draw the water with which it was to be mixed. I had 
not bo much as the help of a single man in fetching 
the bricks ; my own back bore all! 

" My first baking prospered pretty well. But when 
it came to the second, after the enamel had been 
spread over the pottery, I was unable to produce the 
heat necessary for the fusion. Six days and nights did 
I remain feeding and watching the furnace, half dis- 
tracted, and almost stupefied by the intense heat and 
my own bitter disappointment. At last it occurred to 
me that the composition contained an insufficient pro- 
portion of the substance which had produced fusion in 
the former instance; and I accordingly set about 
grinding and pounding, though still obliged to keep 
up the fire of the oven, so that I had treble labour on 
my hands. 

" The former pieces being now spoiled, I was forced 
to go out and purchase new pots to be covered by the 
fresh composition ; and on my return, I had the misery 
of discovering that my stock of wood was exhausted ! 
What was to be done ? I rushed into my garden, and 
tore up the trellices ; and these being insufficient, was 
obliged to sacrifice the dressers, stools, tables, and board- 
ing of my house ! All these were successively thrust 
into the furnace, in the hope of melting the enamel!" 

The reader will probably recall to mind the account 
given by Benvenuto Cellini in his Memoirs, of having 
contributed all his pewter dishes and household 
utensils to the metal prepared for his noble statue of 
Perseus, which proved slow and difficult of fusion. 
But the Italian protege of princes makes a vauut of 
his sacrifice, whereas the meek Palissy couches his 
statement in the terms of a confession. 

" Scorched by the heat of the furnace,'' says be, •* and 
reduced to a skeleton by the transpiration arising from 
this prodigious heat, I had now a new vexation in 
store for me. My family having indiscreetly circu- 
lated the report of my taking up and burning the 
flooring of my house, I was considered insane by mv 
neighbours, and my precarious credit totally destroyed. 
If I had then died, I should have left behind me the 
name of a madman who had ruined his family by a 
frantic speculation. But though sick and dispirited, 
I cheered myself with the certainty that the discovery 
of which I had been so long in pursuit was effected ; 
and that henceforward I had only to persevere in my 
labours. The difficulty of maintaining my family for 
five or six months longer, till a satisfactory result 
could be obtained, was tne first consideration ; but in 
order to hasten the period, I hired a potter to assist 
me in my work, furnishing him with models and 
materials. 

" A cruel drawback it was, that I was unable to 
maintain this man in my dismantled home ; for I was 
forced to run up a bill for his board at a neighbour- 
ing tavern. Nay, when, at the end of six months, he 
had made me the various articles of crockery accord- 
ing to my designs, so that nothing remained to be done 
but to cover them with my enamel, and submit them 
to the furnace, being forced to dismiss my workman, I 
bad no means of paying him his wages, except by 
giving him my clothes, which I accordingly did ; and 
iny person was now as thoroughly dismantled as my 
house P 

[To be continued.] 



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[Sir Hudibras addresnng the Mob.] 



HUDIBRAS.-No. IV. 
Thk second can to* according to tht argument prefixed, 
contains 

* The catalogue and character 
Of th' enemy's best men of war ; 
Whom, in a bold harangue, the Knight 
Defies, and challenges to fight : 
H' encounter! Talgol, routs the Dear, 
And takes the Fiddler prisoner; 
Conveys him to enchanted castle, 
And shuts him up in wooden Bastile.'* 

This is literally all the action detailed in the eleven 
hundred and seventy-nine lines of the canto, and which 
is filled instead with satire of the purest, the truest, and 
the most discursive kind. Butler's error, considered 
artistically, was in selecting too trivial a subject as the 
medium of conveying his thoughts to the world. He 
uot only did this, but he took a side, 

M And to party gave up what was meant for mankind." 

Friends and foes have alike joined in punishing him 
for this, by refusing, or at least neglecting, to see much 
beyond this. Churchmen have said, ** See the character 
of the men of the great rebellion !" and contend for its 
personages and adventures as for true history ; dis- 
senters have objected to it as vulgar ribaldry. The 
learned Dr. Zachary Grey, in the preface to his edition 
of Hudibras, says, " The reader, 'tis hoped, will better 
apprehend and relish the satire couched in this poem 



when he is acquainted with the persons and transactions 
at which it is levelled." He adds that in all previous 
editions it had been generally supposed "that those 
renowned champions Crowdero, Orsin, Talgol, Mag- 
nano, Cerdon, Colon, and the brave heroine Trulia, 
were only imaginary persons, from whence many have 
concluded these adventures to be romantic and fabu- 
lous, instead of true history," as he undertakes to 
prove them to be ; and gives, on the authority of Sir 
Roger L'Estrange, " who, being personally acquainted 
with the poet, undoubtedly received the secret from 
him," what he considers the facts of this history. 

This secret and these facts consist in telling us that 
Crowdero was one Jackson, a milliner in the Strand ; 
that Orson was Joshua Gostling, the keeper of the bears 
at Paris Garden ; that Talgol " was a butcher in New- 
gate Market, who afterwards obtained a captains 
commission for his rebellious bravery at Naseby," &c. 
But what does this information furnish ? A fiddler, a 
bear- ward and his bear, a butcher with his dog, an 
ostler, a travelling tinker with his doxy, and a cobbler, 
are, we may almost say, the necessary constituents of a 
bear-baiting mob, and what is there in the poem cha- 
racteristic of an individual? Did the "butcher in 
Newgate Market" make the speech commencing 
"thou vermin wretched 
As e'er in measled pork wa< hatched : 
Thou tail of worship, that dost grow 
On rump of justice, as of cow " ? 



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If not, the secret amounts to no more than that there 
was a " butcher in Newgate Market " who went to a 
bear-bait; and the same of the rest — a fact we can 
readily admit, and also that the author knew this 
important fact. But as to its increasing our relish of 
the satire, that we altogether deny. Indeed, with 
regard to the butcher, the speech is so little in unison 
with what had been previously stated, that Dr. Grey 
is compelled to suppose that "probably Talgol might 
then be a cavalier," " notwithstanding Sir Roger 
L'EstFange (his only authority) has asserted to the 
contrary." 

We are extremely anxious, perhaps unnecessarily so, 
to clear the poem from the exaggerated importance 
attributed to its political tendency. That Butler was 
a hearty and even passionate royalist and churchman 
we may admit— too good a one, we have no doubt, to 
have acknowledged for a moment that by such cha- 
racters as he has here exhibited the downfall of the 
hierarchy and monarchy had been effected, and the 
gallant cavaliers combated and defeated. He be- 
lieved in no such degrading impossibility, but he 
placed in the mouths, or on the shoulders, of low and 
ridiculous imaginary personages, the culled absurdities 
of doctrine, peculiarities of expression, and the culpable 
actions, of any of the parties or sects* opposed to his 
own, perhaps even some personal features of indivi- 
duals, interspersing the whole with his own never- 
failing wit, and honest exposure of and scorn for 
mere pretence, wherever existing. 

Bear-baiting was by no means a peculiarly puritani- 
cal amusement, but rather the contrary. It had been 
patronised by monarchs, and supported by the aristo- 
cracy. Mr. J. P. Collier, in his * Memoirs of Edward 
Alleyn, the founder of Dulwich College,' informs us, 
that when he wished to, indeed when he did, retire 
from the stage, " he was compelled by virtue of his 
office of Master of the Games," which he held from the 
king, "to superintend the affairs of the Bear Garden." 
By the patent of bis office " he was authorised • to take 
up ' any bears, bulls, or dogs, in any part of the king- 
dom, for the service of his majesty, on payment of what 
might be considered a reasonable price. This power 
was deputed, and Mr. Collier has given a curious case 
of dispute arising from the attempt to take a gentle- 
man's dog in Cheshire, but who charged the deputy dog- 
providers *• for his majesty's service " with theft, and the 
justices only refrained from committing them by their 
" seeing the great seal of Eneland, and their deputa- 
tions." But these rude sports had a stronger hold upon 
the popular feelings than the vanities, as they were 
called, of dress, or dancing, or music, or church rituals. 
Many a one could subdue his respect for plum-por- 
ridge who could not refrain from enjoying a bout 
at single-stick, or attending a bear or bull-bait, or 
partaking in a game of cricket. Of course, such per- 
sons were not religious leaders, but they were often 
hearty followers. Notwithstanding what Dr. Grey 
has said of the characters of the heroes on this oc- 
casion, we think an unprejudiced person will dis- 
cover but few puritanical features in their descrip- 
tion, with the exception of Cerdon the cobbler, 
who is said to be a preacher, and of course as such 
must have been a dissenter. The characters indeed 
are merely sketches— it is the illustrations that gem 
the frame- work in such rich profusion that constitute 
the real attraction of the poem. 

The Knight and Squire are represented as proceed- 
ing 

a Until they reach'd the fatal champain 
Which tb* enemy did then encamp on ; 

* Within a few lines of the end of page 61, this word has 
been transformed into *©r/; the passage should read— «« the 
features of a sect rather than an individual.' 1 



The dire Pharsalian plain, where battle 

Was to be wag'd 'twixt puissant cattle, 

And fierce auxiliary men 

That came to aid their brethren : 

Who now began to take the field, 

As Knight from ridge of steed beheld, 

For as our modern wits behold 

Mounted a pick-back on the old. 

Much further off, much further he 

Raised on his aged beast could see/' 
This last allusion is to the question then warmly con- 
tested as to the superiority of ancient or modern learn- 
ing, in which Boyle, Temple, Swift, and ipany others 
took an active part. 

" I' tb/ head of all this warlike rabble, 
Crowdero marched, expert and able. 
Instead of trumpet ami of drum, 
That makes the warrior's stomach come, • 
Whose noise whets valour sharp, like beer 
By thunder turn'd to vinegar ; 
(For if a trumpet sound, or drum beat, 
Who has not a month's mind to combat t) 
A squeaking engine he applied. 
Unto his neck on north-cast side, 
Just where the hangman does dispose, 
To special friends, the knot of noose : 
For 'tis great grace when statesmen straight 
Dispatch a friend, let others wait." 

With the addition that 

" His grisly beard was long and thick, 
With which he strung his fiddlestick ;" 

and that at a bull-baiting in Staffordshire 

" his leg, then broke, 
Had got a deputy of oak," 

we have the whole of the materials found sufficient for 
identifying Crowdero with Jackson the milliner in the 
Strand, who lost his leg in the service of the Round- 
heads and then became a fiddler. The succeeding 
figure is the " marshal to the champion Bear :" 

" This leader was of knowledge great, 
Either for charge, or for retreat 
He knew when to fall on pell-mell, 
To fall back and retreat as well. 
So lawyers, lest the bear defendant, 
And plaintiff dog, should make an end on't, 
Do stave and tail with writs of error, 
Reverse of judgment, and demurrer, 
To let them breathe awhile, and then 
Cry whoop, and set them o